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EUROPEAN 
DRAMATISTS 


BY 

ARCHIBALD    HENDERSON 

AUTHOR  OF 

*•  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW:  HIS  LIFE  AND  WORKS," 

"MARK  TWAIN,"  "INTERPRETERS 

OF  LIFE,"  ETC. 


CINCINNATI 

STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY 

1914 


Copyright,  191 3,  by 

STEWART  &  KIDD  COMPANY 

All  Rights  Reserved 

Copyright  in  England 


~m~oT~^ 


ist  edition  December,  1913 
2nd  edition  August,  1914 


TO 

"MUDZIE" 
-the  loveliest  lady  who  ever  added  the  wisdom  of 
the  new  thought  to  the  charm  of  the  old 
manner  -  this  discussion  of  the 
newest  thinkers  is  dedi- 
cated in  love  and 
admiration. 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  first  essay  In  the  present  volume  has  not 
hitherto  appeared  in  print.  The  four  following 
essays,  fully  revised,  are  reprinted  from  my  *'Inter- 
preters  of  Life,  and  the  Modern  Spirit,"  now  out  of 
print.  The  last  essay  appeared  in  the  Forum  (New 
York)  and  the  Mercure  de  France  (Paris).  For 
permission  to  reproduce  fragments  of  essays  form- 
erly published  I  am  indebted  to  the  editors  of  the 
Deutsche  Revue  (Stuttgart  and  Berlin),  Mercure  de 
France  (Paris),  La  Societe  Nouvelle  (Ghent  and 
Paris),  Finsk  Tidskrift  (Helsingfors),  Illustreret 
Tidende  (Stockholm),  Atlantic  Monthly  (Bos- 
ton), Arena  (Boston),  North  American  Review 
(New  York),  Bookman  (New  York),  Sewanee  Re- 
view (Sewanee  and  New  York). 

Archibald  Henderson. 

Fordell 

Chapel  Hill,  N.  C. 


^ 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

August  Strindberg 3 

Henrik  Ibsen 75 

Maurice  Maeterlinck i99 

Oscar  Wilde 253 

Bernard  Shaw 323 

Granville  Barker  .     ..:    ..:    ..:    :.j    ;•     ....  365 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG 


The  supreme  goal  of  the  great  literature  of  our 
era  has  been  and  remains  the  expression,  in  some 
form  of  final  artistic  denotement,  of  the  struggle  of 
the  ego  at  self-realization.  This  recurrent  note  in 
the  eternal  symphony  of  life  rings  out  again  and 
again  in  the  authentic,  harmonic  intuitions  of  the 
supermen  of  contemporary  thought,  philosophy  and 
art.  This  dionysian  searching  after  the  divine  in 
the  human,  this  headlong  struggle  for  the  exaltation 
of  the  individual  soul  to  the  heights  of  superhuman 
conquest  and  super-moral  ethics,  is  the  sign-manual 
of  the  daemonic  dissonance  and  spiritual  chaos  of 
to-day.  That  free  and  daring  individualist,  philo- 
sophic progenitor  of  Nietzsche  and  contemporary 
anarchism,  Max  Stirner,  repudiated  the  claims  of  the 
species  in  behalf  of  the  ideal  of  Man,  the  individual. 
The  realization  of  man  as  the  generally  human  was 
abandoned  for  the  sake  of  the  realization  of  man 
as  the  anarchic  unit  of  life.  "  I  am  my  own  species, 
without  law,  without  model  " —  such  is  the  clamant 
individualism  of  Stirner. 

From  Stirner  and  his  ultimate  philosophy  of  the 

8 


4  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

autonomous  will,  stem  the  clamant  and  revolutionary 
forms  of  contemporary  egoism,  Individualism  and 
spiritual  anarchism.  With  Nietzsche  entered  into 
modern  consciousness  the  sense  of  a  superhuman 
ideal  for  man,  springing  phoenix-like  from  the  ashes 
of  universal  illuslonism,  the  relativity  of  the  con- 
cepts of  good  and  evil,  the  fundamental  amoralism 
of  Nature.  In  Halvard  Solness,  Ibsen  presents  the 
disquieting  figure  of  the  superman  in  embryo,  vainly 
seeking  that  freedom  which  Nietzsche  defined  as  the 
will  to  be  responsible  for  one's  self.  The  happiest 
of  the  optimists,  Maeterlinck,  who  suavely  wrests 
consolation  from  the  very  thought  of  dissolution, 
has  succumbed  to  the  pressure  of  the  new  ideal  in 
the  words :  "  There  is  more  active  charity  in  the 
egoism  of  a  strenuous,  far-seeing  soul  than  in  all  the 
devotion  of  a  soul  that  is  helpless  and  blind.''  Ber- 
nard Shaw,  the  Socialist,  with  his  inherent  sense  of 
the  Inter-dependence  of  all  the  units  of  society,  never- 
theless Is  driven  to  the  Ideal  of  the  human  tempera- 
ment, guided  by  passion  and  operating  instinctively. 
From  the  Life  Force  of  Shaw,  the  elan  vital  of  Berg- 
son,  emerges  the  Identical  concept  of  creative  evolu- 
tion —  the  individual  soul,  continually  creating  be- 
yond himself,  "  rising  above  himself  to  himself,"  in 
the  struggle  to  attain  the  supreme,  Ineluctable  pur- 
poses of  Life. 

From  the  study  of  the  work  of  August  Strindberg, 
the  spiritual  autobiography  of  the  greatest  subjec- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG 


A 


tiyist  of  modem  times,  there  emerges  the  Inevitable 
conviction  that  here  is,  in  a  spiritual  sense,  a  tenta- 
tive incarnation  of  the  superhuman  ideals  of  con- 
temporary thought  and  sensibility.  Above  all  the 
dissonances  of  that  inharmonious  and  jangled  ex- 
istence sounds  the  clear  strain  of  persistently  lofty 
[idealism.  This  figure  of  strenuous  mental  vitality,  ^ 
of  transcendent  spiritual  energy,  thrilled  with  the 
towering  ambition  of  the  individual  will,  tumultuous, 
passionate,  unstable.  And  yet  the  alluring  contours 
of  his  art-work  are  chiseled  with  the  cold,  merciless 
steel  of  the  sculptor-analyst.  In  conjunction  with 
this  towering  ambition  is  discernible  the  supersensi- 
tiveness  of  the  shy,  wild,  primitive  creature,  cower- 
ing beneath  "  all  the  weary  weight  of  this  unintel- 
ligible world."  In  inexplicable  union  are  found  the 
arrogant  individualist,  shyly  naive  even  to  very  char- 
latanry, and  the  intuitive  subjectivist,  ruthlessly  ex- 
posing to  view  the  tragedies  of  humanity  and  the 
antinomies  of  his  own  soul.  Strindberg  is  the  con- 
genital dualist  of  our  epoch  —  a  dualist  in  every 
faintest  manifestation  of  his  nature.  In  him  the 
spirit  eternally  warred  against  the  flesh,  the  flesh 
against  the  spirit.  The  incarnation  of  that  pure 
energy,  dionyslan  In  origin,  which  Blake  described  as 
eternal  delight,  Strindberg  shrinklngly  sought  refuge 
from  the  storms  of  life  in  the  haven  of  mysticism 
and  occultism.  As  artist,  the  paradox  of  his  dualism 
is  no  less  astounding;  for  the  integrity  of  his  in- 


^ 


6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tellect,  in  achieving  the  realism  of  fact,  is  equalled 
only  by  the  Intuitive  power  of  his  artistry,  in  sensing 
the  Illusory  and  the  romantic.  His  whole  life  was 
a  passionately  defiant  assertion  of  the  individual  will; 
and  yet  he  eternally  bore  the  burden  of  the  disillu- 
sioned idealist,  sardonically  delineating  the  dread- 
ful, inescapable  obligations  of  contemporary  civiliza- 
tion. With  high,  tragic  mien  he  walked  the  painful 
path  to  the  scene  of  his  own  self-crucifixion,  search- 
ing for  God  if  haply  he  might  find  Him ;  and  yet  this 
relentless  searcher  for  the  good  had  his  gaze 
eternally  fixed  upon  evil  and  the  source  of  evil. 
Like  another  Dante,  he  haunted  the  shades  of  a 
modern  Inferno ;  but,  unlike  Dante,  in  searching  for 
God  he  found  the  devil.  In  his  sympathetic  con- 
templation of  the  tragedy  of  human  destiny,  is  felt 
the  strange,  sweet  pathos  of  one  who  is  somehow 
strong  and  good;  yet  evil,  the  knowledge  of  evil,  so 
obsessed  his  consciousness  that  he  stands  forth  to- 
day as  that  artist  of  modern  times  whose  power  of 
painting  the  evil  genius  of  humanity,  of  turning  up 
the  seamy  side  of  the  garment  of  life  for  our  horri- 
fied yet  fascinated  contemplation,  is  unique  and  in- 
comparable. In  his  lifetime,  he  sought  to  annex  the 
entire  domain  of  the  human  spirit;  and  yet  this 
search  for  cosmopolitan  culture,  for  the  highest, 
deepest  reaches  of  the  artistic  consciousness,  left  him 
as  it  found  him,  a  plebeian  of  the  soul.  It  Is  scarcely 
an   exaggeration   to   affirm  that   Strindberg  is   the 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  7 

diarist,  one  had  almost  said,  the  journalist  of  per- 
sonal consciousness.  A  great  artist  with  all  the 
allure  of  genius  —  tainted  with  the  dross  of  char- 
latanry and  arrogance.  Like  another  Knute,  he 
bade  the  waves  of  life  to  recede;  but  for  all  his  cate- 
gorical imperative,  life  in  the  event  still  obdurately 
refused  to  do  his  imperious  bidding.  He  was  like 
a  brilliant  comet  out  of  the  North,  flaming  across 
the  contemporary  consciousness  with  radiant  corus- 
cations, leaving  behind,  in  its  extinguishment,  a 
deeper,  more  chaotic  gloom. 

II 

This  country  has  for  long  paid  the  penalty  for  the 
popular,  insistent  demand  that,  in  analyzing  the  great 
contemporary  writers  who  have  given  rise  to  the  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  ferment  of  modern  Europe, 
our  native  critics  must  carefully  skirt  the  deeper 
sources  and  causes  of  the  peculiar  manifestations, 
indicia,  hallucinations,  stigmata,  of  genius.  Ac- 
companying this  pressure  of  public  opinion  is  the 
equally  Insistent  convention  that  European  figures 
must  be  presented  to  us  solely  as  leaders  in  ten- 
dency, specialists  In  morbidity,  heralds  and  promul- 
gators of  aberrant  and  distorted  theories  of  conduct  i  ^ 
and  philosophies  of  life.  In  consequence,  the  mean-  |  1 
ing  and  significance  of  so  important  a  spiritual  mani- 
festation as  was  August  Strindberg  is  totally  evaded 
and  missed.  In  particular  by  those  who  seek  to  pan- 


8  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

der  to  popular  standards  by  emasculating  him  of  the 
barbaric,  virile  qualities  which  constitute  his  most 
persistent  temperamental  fascination.  In  the  dry, 
hard  silhouette,  projected  for  American  inspection, 
there  has  been  no  adequate  perspective,  no  subtle 
delineation,  no  rendition  of  the  composite  and  mul- 
tiple shades  of  his  nature,  character,  and  spiritual 
physiognomy.  From  time  to  time  one  has  heard 
faint  rumors  of  a  Swedish  madman  who  was  married 
thrice  In  proof  of  his  hatred  of  women;  a  gruesome 
naturalist  who  was  so  obsessed  with  the  mania  of 
sex  aversion  that  he  achieved  European  notoriety  by 
depicting  all  women  as  beasts  of  prey ;  an  hallucinated 
mystic  who  found  his  Intellectual  level  In  the  fumts- 
teries  of  Sar  Peladan;  an  egoist  who  was  so  self- 
assertive,  so  dogmatic  In  his  assertions,  so  ineffably 
vain  that  he  devoted  his  life  to  heaping  scorn  and 
ridicule  upon  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  pouring  out 
upon  them  the  vials  of  his  vulgar  wrath  and  con- 
tempt. At  last,  the  moment  Is  arriving  when  the 
first  promise  of  adequate  Interpretation  and  appre- 
ciation of  Strindberg  is  coming  to  fulfil  itself. 
Plays  revealing  various  sides  of  his  multiplex  genius, 
the  burning  Intensity,  the  marvellous  realism,  sub- 
limated by  the  Inspiration  of  a  hidden  mystic  feel- 
ing, the  ruthless  naivete  Irradiated  with  powerfully 
vibrant  temperament,  are  now  accessible  to  Ameri- 
can readers,  through  the  painstaking  labor  of  de- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  9 

voted  translators.^  Less  rarely  now  are  given, 
under  semi-professional  or  even  experimental,  popu- 
lar conditions,  productions  of  the  plays  least  foreign 
to  the  taste  presumed  to  be  characteristically  Ameri- 
can, notably  The  Father,  Miss  Julia,  The  Stronger, 
and  Pariah.  The  promise  of  translations  of  the 
most  significant  and  self-revelatory  of  the  novels  and 
short  stories,  now  being  realized,  may  go  far  to- 
wards giving  form  and  color  to  the  figure  of  Strind- 
berg,  and  enabling  us  to  arrest  and  fix  the  alterna- 
tions of  light  and  shade,  the  fluctuations  and  play  of 
motives,  the  spiritual  chiaroscuro  of  his  intimately 
confessed,  tragic,  morbid  life.  It  may  then  dawn 
upon  the  consciousness  of  the  English-speaking 
world  that  this  red  specter,  Strindberg,  the  bogy  of 
feminist  hysteria,  was  a  soul  "  wind-beaten,  but  as- 

1  The  pioneering  work  of  Mr.  Edwin  Bjorkraan,  the  Swedish- 
American  critic,  both  as  interpreter  and  translator,  is  deserving 
of  high  praise.  He  has  achieved  terse,  clear-cut  translations,  at 
times  deficient  in  the  flexibility  of  conversational  English,  at  times 
too  colloquial  in  tone.  As  an  interpreter,  he  is  lucid  and  sympa- 
thetic; yet  toward  the  grave  shortcomings  of  his  fellow  country- 
man, Strindberg,  whom  he  seems  to  regard  as  an  Olympian  "  tend- 
ency "  phenomenon,  he  is  too  insistently  apologetic.  A  debt  of 
gratitude  we  owe  to  Mrs.  Velma  Swanston  Howard  for  her  im- 
portant service  in  accentuating  the  bright,  cheerful  side  of  Strind- 
berg in  the  selection  for  translation  of  Lucky  Pehr,  Easter  and 
some  of  the  more  charming  sketches;  her  translations  are  singu- 
larly free  and  graceful.  There  are  other  translators  of  Strind- 
berg's  plays;  their  contributions,  by  no  means  negligible,  are  in  the 
main  quite  lacking  in  literary  distinction. 


lo  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

cending " ;  a  creative  thinker  essentially  strong  in 
character  if  not  always  delicate  in  tone;  an  Investi- 
gator with  a  scientific  equipment  of  no  mean  order; 
a  seeker,  a  delver  in  the  mysteries  of  both  matter  and 
soul;  critic,  historian,  philosophic  experimentalist,  a 
titan  in  imagination.  This  titanic  figure,  embodying  a 
life  of  truly  protean  productivity,  roughly  ex- 
pressed in  the  fifty  odd  volumes  of  his  works  now 
publishing,  has  entered  into  the  world-consciousness 
of  modern  Europe,  bequeathing  to  this  and  subse- 
quent generations  the  herculean  task  of  elucidating 
countless  unsolved  problems,  hazards,  dubieties,  hy- 
potheses, riddles,  and  enigmas. 

Ill 

*^_The  life  of  August  Strlndberg  is  so  predominantly 
chaotic^  the  lines  of  his  career  run  in  such  amazing 
zig-zag,  his  personality  is  so  rich,  his  temperament 
so  volcanic,  that  It  seems  to  defy  analysis,  or  even 
adequate  comprehension.  The  dualism  of  his  nature 
is  so  persistently  assertive  that  it  is  hazardous  to 
attribute  to  Strlndberg  some  trait  or  quality,  solely 
upon  the  evidence  of  any  single  work  of  his,  how- 
ever authentic  or  artistically  final.  It  is  only  after 
the  whole  amazing  drama  of  his  variegated  life  and 
disparate  achievements  lies  before  us  in  its  entirety 
that  we  are  enabled  to  gather  up  the  far-flung  and 
scattered  threads,  to  weave  them  into  some  sort  of 
credible  pattern  which  may  serve  as  the  design  of 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  ii 

his  life.  For  his  was  a  life  compact  of  struggle 
and  resignation,  conflict  and  reconciliation.  Only 
through  the  most  precise,  sympathetic  and  unpreju- 
diced contemplation  can  we  chart  the  shifting  vital 
currents  of  his  psychic  evolution  by  the  moored 
buoys  of  his  written  works. 

The  will  of  those  who  are  no  more,  Anatole 
France  has  said,  is  imposed  upon  those  who  still  are. 
It  is  the  dead  who  live.  They  are  to  be  found  in  the 
habits,  in  the  lives  of  us  all.  Our  destiny  sleeps 
with  us  in  our  cradles.  We  are  not  straining 
credulity  in  attributing  Strindberg's  profound  ethical 
and  moral  sense  to  that  ancestor  of  his  who  preached 
to  the  peasants  of  Strinne,  whence  was  formed  the 
family  name;  nor  in  finding  cause  for  his  barbaric, 
headlong  martial  spirit  in  that  ancestor  who  was  a 
captain,  descendant  of  one  of  that  splendid  band 
of  victorious  fighters  who  served  under  Gustavus 
Adolphus,  and  received  knighthood  at  his  hands.^ 
The  mingled  strains  of  his  ancestry  warrant  the 
assertion  that  he  was  the  incarnation  of  the  Pan- 
Germanic  spirit.  In  the  portrait  of  his  grandfather, 
Zacharias  Strlndberg  (175 8-18 29),  a  dramatist  of 
considerable  talent,  we  may  trace  the  lines  of  virile 
intellectuality  and  artistic  sensibility.  It  is  how- 
ever to  his  mother,  a  creature  of  sentimentality, 
tender  and  passionate,  that  he  owes  more  immedi- 
ately the  vibrant  sensitivity  and  innate  subjectivism 

i"Die  Familic  Strindberg":    Das  Neue  Magazine;  75,  16. 


-^ 


12  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  his  nature.  For  her  he  felt  the  tenderest  attach- 
ment, which  reveals  itself  in  his  later  confession;  but 
the  blight  of  his  origin,  he  being  born  two  months 
after  the  marriage  of  his  mother,  cast  a  lasting 
gloom  over  his  soul.^ 

Oskar  Strlndberg,  a  steamship  agent,  had  entered 
into  a  free  union  with  Eleonora  Ulrike  Norling,  a 
poor  girl  of  the  servant  class  by  whom  he  had  three 
children  before  August  was  born.  Early  In  life, 
August  came  to  feel  the  most  devitalizing  and  de- 
pressing Influences  which  can  come  Into  the  life  of  a 
child.  The  family  were  in  very  straitened  circum- 
stances, and  the  father  flung  himself  unstintedly 
Into  the  struggle  to  raise  his  family  to  the  position 
which  his  own  forbears  had  held  In  life;  and  In  con- 
sequence the  children  were  neglected  by  the  father 
—  when  they  were  not  beaten.  The  sense  of  shame 
in  his  parentage,  it  Is  scarcely  to  be  doubted,  bred 
In  August  a  shyness,  a  supersensltlveness,  already  in- 
herent in  his  nature.  The  conditions  of  the  family 
life  were  little  elevated  above  the  squalid.  As 
Strlndberg  put  It,  there  was  "  a  surplusage  of  popula- 
tion, baptisms  and  funerals.  There  were  not  two 
christenings  without  a  funeral  In  between."  His 
first  gloomy  Impressions  of  existence  were  received 
in  such  an  atmosphere  of  joylessness  and  unsanitary 
overcrowding  —  eleven  persons  In  three  rooms. 

Under  happier  surroundings  with  real  parental 

1  August  Strlndberg  was  born  in  Stockholm,  January  la,  1849. 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  13 

oversight  —  Impossible  in  such  conditions  —  August 
might  have  blossomed  out  and  expanded  normally. 
But  he  was  repressed,  left  undeveloped,  rendered 
morbid  and  shy  by  the  treatment  he  received. 

"  My  rearing  consisted  in  cuffings,  scoldings  and 
being  made  to  obey.  The  child  had  no  rights;  only 
duties.  Everyone^s  wishes  but  his  own  were  heeded : 
his  were  stifled.  He  could  touch  nothing  without 
being  at  fault,  stand  nowhere  without  being  in  the 
way,  utter  no  word  without  making  himself  a  nui- 
sance. His  highest  duty,  his  highest  virtue,  was  — • 
to  sit  on  a  chair  and  keep  still." 
V  It  was  no  wonder  that  Strindberg  came  to  regard 
the  family  envisaged  in  his  youthful  consciousness 
as  the  home  of  all  the  social  faults.  To  this  dark 
experience  of  home  as  "  the  hell  of  all  children  "  we 
may  doubtless  attribute  the  repellent  qualities  of  the 
developed  individual  —  Intractability,  rebelliousness, 
violence  and  habitual  reaction  against  the  Influence 
or  domination  of  others.  This  was  a  wonderfully 
precocious  child  who  brooded  again  and  again,  in 
later  life,  over  the  bitter  humiliation  of  his  childhood 
in  having  his  word  doubted  and  then  being  goaded 
into  making  a  false  confession  of  his  guilt.  At  the 
age  of  eight  he  even  contemplated  suicide,  driven  to 
the  thought  by  his  feeling  of  love  for  a  young  girl 
he  was  afraid  to  address;  and  the  thought  and  intent 
of  suicide  reverted  to  him  at  intervals  throughout 
his  life. 


14  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

There  is  nothing  new  in  the  spectacle  of  incipient 
genius  repressed  and  retarded  in  an  unsympathetic 
and  harsh  environment.  It  was  fortunate  in  a  sense 
that  this  timid  child,  with  nerves  stretched  almost 
to  the  breaking  point,  felt  the  violent  normal  symp- 
toms of  reaction ;  for  otherwise  such  discipline  might 
well  have  resulted  in  arrested  ethical  development. 
The  crassly  pietestic  tendencies  of  his  mother, 
crossed  with  excessive  sentimentality,  seems  in  some 
measure  to  explain  the  self-torturing  religious  tend- 
encies of  the  later  Strindberg.  If  religion  on  the 
one  hand  gave  him  some  consolation  for  the  harsh- 
ness of  his  conditions,  on  the  other  his  rebellion 
against  such  a  dicipline  awoke  in  him  the  note  of 
social  revolt  —  revolt  against  that  type  of  education 
railed  at  by  Huxley,  the  senseless  drilling  and  regi- 
menting of  individuals  into  mere  dummies,  me- 
chanically playing  their  part  in  a  mechanistic  civiliza- 
,  tion.  The  man  who  could  declare  of  his  youth  that 
^  "  life,  a  terrible  depressing  burden  weighed  down 
upon  me  every  day  '* —  that  man  was  but  expressing 
a  state  of  mind  which  was  so  deeply  impressed  upon 

/  his  nature  that  he  carried  it  with  him  his  life  long. 

/    As  a  child,  as  a  youth,  as  an  old  man  —  it  was  al- 

/     ways  the  same :  he  never  ceased  to  "  go  about  with 

I     a  guilty  conscience. 

V  In  his  studies  of  Nature  —  flower  and  tree,  animal 
and  stone  —  he  found  keen  intellectual  satisfaction. 
Such  consolation  was  very  necessary  for  one  who 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  ij 

was  left  to  mourn  his  mother  at  the  age  of  thirteen; 
and  when,  nearly  a  year  later,  his  father  married 
the  former  housekeeper,  his  cup  was  full,  since  his 
efforts  to  establish  sympathetic  relations  with  her 
went  all  for  naught.  Again,  more  hopelessly  than 
before,  the  spontaneous  wells  of  instinctive  love  and 
longing  were  dammed  back;  and  he  was  left  to 
brood  solitary  over  his  loneliness.  His  early  ex- 
periences at  school  were  unfortunate;  and  even  be- 
fore he  left  school  the  lines  of  character  had  already 
set  their  mark  upon  his  impressionable  nature. 
When  in  May,  1867,  he  took  his  examination  pre- 
paratory to  matriculation  at  the  University  of 
Upsala,  he  had  only  a  tiny  sum  which  he  himself 
had  earned  by  tutoring;  his  father  curtly  packed  him 
off  with  a  "  pocketful  of  cigars  and  the  injunction 
to  look  out  for  himself." 

Strindberg  afterwards  used  to  maintain  that  the 
one  solid  residuum  of  his  first  university  course  was 
a  smart  tailored  coat,  which  bespoke  cultured  social 
experience.  As  a  tutor  in  the  family  of  a  wealthy 
Jewish  physician,  he  came  to  take  interest  in  and 
even  to  study  medicine ;  but  the  society  with  which  he 
mingled  there  —  artists,  singers,  people  of  social 
distinction  —  soon  turned  his  thoughts  in  another 
direction,  the  direction  of  the  stage.  The  glamour 
of  the  footlights  obsessed  him;  and  he  vigor- 
ously devoted  his  energies  to  the  one  purpose 
of  becoming  an  actor.     He  made  his  debut  at  the 


1 6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Dramatiska  Theatre  in  1869  In  Bjornson's  Mary 
Stuart y  playing  the  part  of  a  lord  who  has  but  one 
line  to  speak.  After  two  months,  desperation 
seizes  hinfl;  he  demands  and  receives  a  hearing. 
The  rehearsal  is  disastrous,  and  Strindberg  is  sternly 
commended  to  the  care  of  a  teacher  In  expression  — 
a  result  which  drove  him  to  attempted  suicide.  As 
chance  would  have  it,  the  attempt  did  not  prove 
fatal.  He  was  in  despair  over  his  failure  as  an 
actor,  for  he  felt  the  Irresistible  urge  towards  the 
artistic  life  without  the  ability  to  gratify  it.  Again 
and  again  he  seemed  to  feel  the  stirring  of  the  crea- 
tive impulse ;  but  —  there  was  no  creation,  the  muse 
was  mute.  But  one  day,  to  his  vast  astonishment, 
as  he  was  lying  upon  the  sofa,  his  stereoscopic  fancy 
began  to  function;  the  scenes  played  themselves  out 
upon  the  stage  of  his  brain;  and  by  a  spurt  of  crea- 
tive productivity,  he  wrote  out  in  two  hours  the 
scenario  for  two  acts  of  a  comedy.  Four  days  more 
—  and  we  see  the  completion  of  Strlndberg's  first 
creative  effort.  It  is  the  beginning  of  his  life.  If 
not  of  his  career.  Although  not  produced,  It  won 
commendation  —  and  Strindberg  knew  at  last  that 
he  had  "  saved  his  soul  alive." 

Now  he  yields  to  the  hectic  spell  of  his  new-found 
talent;  and  within  two  months  he  has  finished  two 
comedies,  and  a  tragedy  In  verse,  Hermione,  show- 
ing a  marked  advance  in  talent, —  a  play  which  was 
afterwards  produced.     His  great  promise  as  a  dra- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  17 

matlst  led  him  to  return  to  the  University,  in  the 
effort  to  secure  the  degree  deemed  so  desirable  for 
anyone  purposing  to  become  a  man  of  letters.  Dur- 
ing this  year  (1870)  he  wrote  a  one-act  play,  In 
Rome,  based  upon  an  incident  In  the  life  of  Thor- 
waldsen,  which  was  anonymously  produced  in 
August  at  the  Dramatiska  Theatre,  Stockholm. 
His  next  play,  written  under  the  influence  of 
Bjornson,  entitled  The  Outlaw,  upon  its  production 
won  him  the  favor  of  King  Carl  XV,  who  generously 
granted  him  a  stipend  of  eight  hundred  riksdaler 
a  year  from  his  private  purse. 

\  The  second  period  of  university  study,  though  it 
did  not  lead  to  his  securing  the  coveted  degree,  is 
a  period  of  distinct  acquisition.  In  the  atmosphere 
of  knowledge,  Strlndberg,  the  genius  in  embryo, 
comes  to  some  definite  realizations  of  the  obligations 
of  scholarship,  artistic  creation  and  culture.  There 
dawns  upon  him  the  realization  of  his  epoch,  of 
the  streams  of  consciousness  In  art.  He  prefigured 
himself  In  Imagination  as  the  transitional  link  be- 
tween two  epochs  of  art.  The  Influences  of  his 
studies  and  wide  reading  were  Ineffaceable  and  so 
determinative  of  the  course  of  his  future  develop- 
ment. The  scientific  precision  of  Darwin  tempered 
the  strain  of  sentiment  and  naive  feeling  due  to  his 
Swedish  origin ;  the  high  ethical  postulates  of  Kirke- 
gaard,  whose  Either-Or  affected  him  powerfully, 
stirred  In  him  the  larger  humanistic  concern  so  pre- 


1 8  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

dominant  in  certain  of  his  greatest  works,  and  ef- 
fectively gave  them  the  note  of  the  art  work  of  the 
future  —  art  for  life's  sake.  The  rationalistic 
clarity  of  Henry  Thomas  Buckle,  his  Insistence  upon 
the  superior  claims  of  the  Intelligence,  his  Nietz- 
schean  faith  In  the  relativity  of  truth,  his  Marxian 
doctrine  of  the  materialistic  conception  of  history, 
as  set  forth  in  his  History  of  Civilization  in  Eng- 
land—  all  these  conceptions  came  to  abide  with 
Strindberg  and  are  refracted,  prismatically,  from  the 
mirror  of  his  works.  Most  profound  of  all  these 
influences  was  Eduard  Von  Hartmann's  Philosophy 
of  the  Unconscious,  with  its  doctrine  of  constitu- 
tional pessimism,  the  seeing  in  life  an  immitigable 
complex  of  woes,  which  must  be  borne  even  though 
we  fail  to  fathom  the  meaning  of  such  a  freak  of 
fate.  In  a  letter  to  Tolstoi,  Bernard  Shaw  once 
hazarded  the  irreverent  suggestion  that  the  universe 
might  be  "  only  one  of  God's  jokes."  It  was  some 
such  mad  conception  as  this  which  obsessed  Strind- 
berg during  his  life,  but  he  always  seemed  to  feel  that 
God,  like  the  Englishman,  jested  sadly.  Never  did 
so  young  a  man  show  himself  so  pervasively  Impres- 
sionable to  the  influences  of  his  studies  and  his  read- 
ing. At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  sharply  stressed 
that  Strindberg  absorbed  and  made  these  ideas  thus 
deeply  imbibed  an  Integral  part  of  his  own  concep- 
tion and  interpretation  of  life.  If  he  became  ethical 
in  tone,  the  mystic  remained  always  the  realist,  the 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  19 

artist  In  temperament.  If  he  became  a  pessimist, 
his  was  a  pessimism  not  of  disillusionment  but  of 
contemplation.  If  he  became  a  rationalist,  his  was 
the  rationalism  of  passion  and  of  sentiment.  If  he 
can  be  called  a  philosophic  spirit  at  all,  it  is  only  in 
the  very  special  sense  that  he  remained  always  a 
persistent  and  relentless  seeker  after  truth,  the  ulti- 
mate truth,  recking  not  of  consequences  either  to  him- 
self or  to  others.  f 

The  attempt  to  base  an  interpretation  of  Strind-f 
berg's  character  upon  the  unique  basis  of  Strind-^ 
berg's  dramas  of  contemporary  life  proceeds  from  1 
a  basic  failure  to  comprehend  the  true  meaning  of  j 
his  life.     These  plays,   in  many  instances,   reveal 
either  transitional  phases  of  his  own  temperamental 
and  cultural  evolution,  or  else  embody  his  efforts  to 
arrive  at  some  philosophical  generalization  upon  the 
problems  of  human  existence  and  human  destiny. 
Strindberg  Is  the  arch-sub jectivist  of  our  era.     In 
his  novels  and  his  short  stories,  and  in  particular  the 
works  confessedly  autobiographical,  shall  we  rather 
discover  the  inner  workings  of  this  tortured  soul, 
seeking    some    ultimate    forms    of    self-realization 
through  self-expression  and  intimate  confession.    For 
Strindberg  declaimed  fiercely  against  the  conven- 
tional approbation  of  the  static  character,  the  per- 
sonality forever  fixed  and  unalterable,  rotating  end- 


?* 


20  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

lessly  within  the  circle  of  his  own  limitation. 
Progress  with  Strlndberg  was  synonymous  with  flux 
—  with  perpetual  alteration  and  transition  from  one 
phase  of  psychical  experience  to  another.  To 
Strlndberg,  the  soul  of  man  was  rich  and  wonderful 
in  proportion  to  its  potentiality  for  change,  for 
transition,  for  elemental  evolutionary  cataclysms. 
The  entire  life  of  this  strenuous,  dynamic  creature 
IS  marked  by  just  such  a  series  of  volcanic  cataclysms. 
Little  heed  has  been  paid  to  Strlndberg's  early 
dreams  for  social  betterment,  as  embodied  in  his 
Swiss  Tales,  They  form  a  cardinally  suggestive 
link  In  the  chain  of  his  spiritual  evolution;  for  after 
this  one  flight  into  the  blue  of  social  Idealism,  Strlnd- 
berg reverts  to  the  passionate  Individualism  which 
signalizes  his  greatest  work  throughout  his  career. 
Yet,  it  is  something  added  to  our  conception  of 
Strlndberg,  this  knowledge  that  Strlndberg  fiercely 
protested  against  the  human  servitude  imposed  by 
the  material  conditions  of  modern  life.  Civiliza- 
tion has  been  paid  for  too  dearly  —  thus  early 
Strlndberg  speaks  In  resonant  tones.  As  a  social 
reformer,  Strlndberg  showed  himself  to  be  pure 
communist.  Abolish  private  ownership,  and  re- 
quire of  every  man  all  that  in  reason  and  in  con- 
science he  can  bring  himself  to  contribute.  The 
European  dynasties  must  go,  in  the  Interest  of  the 
future  of  the  average  man;  militancy  must  yield  to 
the  visionary  ideal  of  world-peace.     This  strange 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  21 

anomaly  of  the  Berserker-like  Strindberg  pre- 
visaging  the  tranquil  communist  state  of  the  far 
future  has  a  certain  piquant  charm  —  the  charm  of 
naive  inconsistency.  The  optimistic  spirit  of  the 
utopist  expires  in  the  bosom  of  the  temperamental 
pessimist.  The  later  Strindberg  sinks  to  the  mean 
level  of  crass  actuality  and  of  individual  strife, 
bafflement  and  trial. 

There  is  no  other  striking  or  revolutionary  event 
in  the  period  from  1872  to  1877  which  furnishes 
indicative  prophecy  of  the  later  Strindberg.  Per- 
haps some  suggestion-s  of  later  tendencies  and  dis- 
positions are  found  here  and  there.  Strindberg  is 
essentially  a  pathological  phenomenon;  as  subjec- 
tivist,  his  instinct  for  self-revelation  arises  from  the 
felt  need  to  express  his  own  development  as  it  is 
affected  by  the  personalities  of  others,  or  by  new 
social  and  religious  influences.  Those  are  prophetic 
words  which  he  speaks  at  the  farewell  banquet  on 
leaving  the  University,  words  foreshadowing  the 
philosophy  of  acquisitiveness  associated  with  Strind- 
berg: **  A  personality  does  not  develop  from  itself, 
but  out  of  each  soul  It  comes  In  conta,ct  with  It  sucks 
a  drop,  just  as  the  bee  gathers  Its  honey  from  a  mil- 
lion flowers,  giving  it  forth  eventually  as  its  own." 

It  Is  customary  to  speak  of  Master  Olof,  written 
in  1872,  as  Strindberg's  first  great  drama;  but  its 
distinction  was  and  is,  not  international,  but  local. 
It  marked  an  epochal  development  In  the  literature 


22  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  Sweden,  as  we  can  easily  recognize  to-day;  but 
at  the  time,  criticism  was  scathingly  derogatory. 
Once  more,  the  creative  impulse  in  Strindberg 
seemed  to  be  stifled,  throttled  for  a  time  by  the 
powerful  hand  of  hostile  criticism.  After  failures 
one  after  another  to  win  success  in  journalistic  hack- 
writing,  Strindberg  finally  secured  a  post  as  assistant 
at  the  Royal  Library.'  This  position,  of  modest  but 
assured  income,  enabled  him  to  devote  his  leisure 
hours  to  research  —  notably  among  Chinese  parch- 
ments as  yet  uncatalogued.  The  restless  energy  of 
the  man  is  betrayed  in  his  study  of  the  Chinese 
language,  and  the  monographs  which  he  wrote  deal- 
ing with  the  relations  between  China  and  Sweden  in 
the  eighteenth  century  —  which  won  him  recogni- 
tion from  scientific  bodies,  such  as  the  French  Insti- 
tute and  the  Russian  Geographical  Society. 

Now  supervenes  one  of  those  crucial  events  which 
affects  a  revolution  in  the  life  of  a  man,  so  deeply 
personal  in  his  art  and  feeling  as  was  Strindberg. 
This  was  the  acquaintanceship  formed  by  Strindberg 
with  the  wife  of  Baron  Wrangel.  The  attachment 
instantaneously  formed  became  more  intimate;  and 
finally  the  divorce  of  the  Baroness  enabled  Strind- 
berg to  exchange  the  role  of  lover  for  that  of  hus- 
band, the  marriage  taking  place  December  30,  1877, 
when  Strindberg  was  twenty-eight  years  old.  When, 
in  the  following  year.  Master  Olof  was  at  last  ac- 
cepted for  publication,  Strindberg  gave  free  vent  to 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  23 

his  suppressed  resentment  over  the  long  delayed 
recognition  of  his  genius,  in  the  tremendous  satire 
The  Red  Room,  This  was  a  "  work  of  conflict," 
a  satirical  protest  against  cultural  conditions  in  the 
Sweden  of  that  day.  Surcharged  with  the  sardonic 
spirit  of  the  scorner,  it  is  a  great  pang  of  reaction 
against  a  world  driven  by  the  force  of  "  vital  lies.'* 
Its  ruthless  exposure  of  contemporary  social  strata 
vitiates  it  as  a  work  of  art.  Yet  we  are  left  with 
the  startled  consciousness  that  here  is  a  great  per- 
sonality, shooting  up  out  of  the  sea  of  mediocrity, 
and  aiming  terrible  blows  at  modern  degeneracy  in 
character,  motive,  and  impulse.  Its  trenchant 
motto,  after  Voltaire,  in  view  of  Strindberg's 
threatened  neglect,  was  astutely  chosen:  Rien  rCest 
si  desagreahle  que  s^etre  pendu  ohscurement,  ^^-^'  ^': 
The  first  years  of  Strindberg's  married  life  were 
undoubtedly  happy  —  certainly  in  the  passional 
sense,  if  not  in  the  restful  consciousness  of  hallowed 
union.  There  is  a  naive  admission  of  the  character 
of  the  union  in  his  description  of  himself  as  being 
in  a  "  happy  erotic  state."  If  the  cloud  on  the  do- 
mestic horizon  was  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand, 
there  were  fierce  storms  of  controversy  about  his 
head  which  finally  decided  him  to  leave  Sweden  in 
1883.  He  lived  for  a  time  in  France,  later  re- 
moving to  Switzerland,  where  he  wrote  the  two  re- 
markable collections  of  stories  published  under  the 
title  of  Marriage, 


24  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

At  this  period,  Strlndberg  was  moved  to  conscious 
revolt  against  the  extravagant  Idealization  of  woman 
which  was  sweeping  over  Europe  In  the  wake  of 
Ibsen's  A  DolVs  House.  His  own  marital  rela- 
tions —  for  Strlndberg  was  always  essentially  per* 
sonnel  —  were  likewise  a  stimulant  cause  for  his 
choice  of  subject.  As  he  looked  about  him,  he  saw 
women  everywhere  living  parasitical  lives  —  taking 
no  real  part  In  the  work  of  civilization.  Under  nor- 
mal conditions,  the  social  growth  of  woman  was 
dependent  upon  their  acquisition  of  the  suffrage  — 
this  he  frankly  realized  and  advocated.  His  real 
attack  was  directed  against  the  type  of  women 
lauded  by  those  who  were  ever3rwhere  advancing 
the  "  equality  madness  " —  women  who  In  their  un- 
reasoning struggle  for  liberty  were  forsaking  the 
privileges  and  the  obligations  of  their  sex.  Strlnd- 
berg made  his  first  Intimate  studies  of  women  and 
marriage,  inspired  by  no  hatred  for  the  •  sex,  but 
urged  by  a  sort  of  Innate  reverence  for  woman  as 
the  mother  of  the  race,  the  creative  and  regenera- 
tive force  of  civilization.  He  saw  a  generation 
making  a  religion  of  the  woman-cult;  and  his  own 
words  adequately  describe  his  point  of  view:  '*  God 
was  the  remotest  source;  when  He  failed  they 
grasped  at  the  next,  the  Mother.  But  then  they 
should  at  least  choose  the  real  mother,  the  real 
woman,  before  whom,  no  matter  how  strong  his 
spirit,  man  will  always  bow  when  she  appears  with 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  25 

her  life-giving  attributes.  But  the  younger  genera- 
tion had  pronounced  contempt  for  the  mother,  and 
In  her  place  had  set  up  the  loathsome,  degenerate 
Amazon  —  the  blue-stocking!  "  In  his  almost  old- 
fashioned  veneration  for  woman  as  the  creative 
force  of  life,  he  totally  lost  sight  of  the  cruel  in- 
equality imposed  upon  woman  by  a  man-made  civil- 
ization. That  Is  a  secret  shape  of  reaction  which 
pretends  to  see  in  woman,  under  contemporary  con- 
ditions, a  free  agent,  the  co-equal  of  man  in  the 
struggle  for  existence.  Woman  to-day  is  not  only 
the  creature  which  man,  through  his  Innate  greed, 
vanity  and  selfishness  persisted  in  for  all  the 
centuries,  has  made  of  her:  she  Is,  in  no  small  meas- 
ure, the  creature  which  she  has  allowed  herself  to 
be  made  into  by  man.  Woman,  In  Meredithian 
phrase.  Is  the  last  creature  that  will  be  civilized  by 
man  —  since  he  will  fight  bitterly  with  all  his 
weapons  against  that  "  civilization." 

The  criminal  proceedings  started  against  the  pub- 
lisher of  this  book,  actually  for  Its  excessive  frank- 
ness In  dealing  with  sexual  relations,  ostensibly  for 
sacrilegious  treatment  of  the  established  religion, 
eventuated  In  a  verdict  of  "  not  guilty,"  after  the 
case  had  been  strenuously  fought  by  Strlndberg  him- 
self. The  result  was  to  give  Strlndberg  a  pre-emi- 
nent position  In  Sweden  as  a  man  of  letters.  Yet 
his  satisfaction  over  the  result  of  the  case  was  sadly 
marred  by  the  consciousness  that  his  purpose  In 


26  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

writing  Marriage^   essentially   a  worthy   one,   had 
been  so  grossly  misunderstood. 

The  condemnation  of  Strindberg  as  a  rank  pessi- 
mist and  thorough-paced  misogynist  aroused  in  him 
a  spirit  of  violent,  volcanic  opposition.  In  the  first 
volume  of  Marriage,  he  had  left  many  things  un- 
said which  he  felt  needed  to  be  said  about  the  re- 
lation of  the  sexes.  Moreover,  he  felt  a  growing 
sense  of  disillusionment  in  his  own  marital  venture. 
These  two  motives,  as  well  as  his  revolt  against 
the  feminist  movement  in  Scandinavia  set  in  motion 
by  Ibsen  and  Bjornson,  influenced  him  to  publish  a 
second  volume  of  stories,  also  entitled  Marriage^ 
which  appears  at  first  sight  to  be  nothing  short  of 
virulent  in  its  animus  against  woman.  It  is  with 
the  publication  of  this  book  in  1886,  that  Strind- 
berg began  to  be  obsessed  with  the  monomania  of 
animadversion  against  the  female  sex.  The  eman- 
cipation he  posits  for  woman  is  only  a  partial  one 
—  since  he  regards  man  and  woman  as  funda- 
mentally disparate.  It  is  not  equality  with  man 
which  woman  needs  —  social  and  economic  equality; 
but  a  limited  freedom  to  realize  herself  within  a 
circle  defined  by  the  obligation  of  motherhood.  He 
holds  it  rank  heresy  to  advocate  for  woman  com- 
plete equality  with  man,  with  its  inevitable  corol- 
laries of  the  right  to  hold  property  and  the  right 
to  work  at  any  trade  for  which  she  fits  herself 
by  training.     Strindberg  is  the  powerful  leader  of 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  27 

a  whole  world  of  reactionary  conservatives,  who 
vehemently  maintain  that  woman  should  "  devote 
her  entire  interest  to  the  family  which  man  works 
to  maintain." 

This  second  volume  of  stories,  entitled  Marriage, 
was  the  intermediary  between  those  two  remarka- 
ble characters,  so  like  in  many  respects,  yet  in  the 
course  of  their  development  so  remote  —  each 
touched  with  the  blight  of  dementia  —  Strindberg 
and  Nietzsche.  In  a  letter  to  Peter  Cast,  Nietzsche 
remarked :  "  Strindberg  has  written  to  me,  and  for 
the  first  time  I  sense  an  answering  note  of  universal- 
ity." It  was  at  this  period  that  Strindberg  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  composing  a  chain  of  autobio- 
graphical confessions  which  might  serve  as  the  lay- 
ing bare  of  a  modern  soul.  His  assertion  that 
great  art  must  be  fundamentally  autobiographical 
—  a  remarkable  assertion  which  finds  support  in 
the  confessions  of  Ibsen  and  the  latest  researches  in 
regard  to  Shakspere  —  lay  at  the  back  of  his  con- 
ception of  such  a  series  of  novels.  The  Bond- 
woman's Son  is  an  unforgettable  picture  of  the  evo- 
lution of  personal  consciousness  in  an  individual  — 
Strindberg  —  through  a  minutely  detailed  succes- 
sion of  sordid  and  squalid  happenings.  If  it  is  an 
"  evangel  of  the  lower  classes,"  certainly  it  portrays 
m  all  their  dark  intimacy  the  devitalizing  and  re- 
pressive influences  emanating  from  the  class  in  which 
he  was  born  —  the  atmospheric  and  actual  produc- 


28  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tive  causes  of  certain  dominant  traits  and  qualities 
In  his  own  nature.  The  one  clear  note  sounding 
above  the  discordant  clash  of  harsh  memories  Is  the 
proclamation  by  Strlndberg  of  conscious  superiority 
to  the  conditions  out  of  which  he  rose.  Strlnd- 
berg's  realization,  with  certain  of  the  leading  spirits 
of  the  age,  of  the  possibilities  of  a  higher  type  of 
being,  of  the  superman,  found  Its  origin  less  In 
Nietzsche  than  In  Strindberg's  own  clear  conscious- 
ness of  differentiation  In  himself  —  the  great  man 
shooting  up  above  the  mean  level,  the  illegitimate 
genius  born  of  the  bondwoman. 

There  was  much  attraction  for  Strlndberg,  with 
his  strenuous  Individualism,  In  the  conception  of  the 
far-sighted,  self-contained,  tolerant  type,  free  with 
the  freedom  which  Nietzsche  has  defined  as  the  will 
to  be  responsible  for  oneself.  In  his  own  career 
we  seem  at  times  to  discern  his  effort  to  rise  above 
the  plane  of  slave-morality  and  the  herd-man,  driven 
by  primitive  Impulses  and  ruled  by  chaotic  passions. 
Strindberg's  ablest  artistic  formulation  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  the  superman  Is  his  novel  At  the  Edge  of 
the  Sea,  published  In  1890,  which  Hans  Land  has 
pronounced  to  be  the  only  work  of  art,  in  the  do- 
main of  NIetzschean  morals,  yet  written  which  is 
destined  to  endure.  True  to  his  instincts,  Strlnd- 
berg has  expressed  In  the  person  of  Borg  his  own 
most  Intense  convictions  and  ideals.  Animated 
with  an  exalted  sense  of  his  own  superiority,  Borg 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  29 

revels  in  lording  it  over  the  world  of  beings  made 
of  commoner  clay.  In  Nietzsche's  conception  of 
the  Superman,  there  is  something  at  once  lyrical 
and  fantastic  —  the  product  of  decadent  romanti- 
cism. Strindberg's  incarnation  in  Borg  is  more  valid 
and  comprehensible  as  a  human  figure  —  remind- 
ing us  of  the  Superman  shadowed  by  Bernard 
Shaw,  not  "  beyond  man,"  but  Superman  in  the 
making,  the  "  moral  aristocrat "  in  transition., 
Strindberg  leaves  us  oppressed  with  a  grim  sense 
of  the  desperate  nature  of  this  new  quest  —  to  rise 
superior,  under  present  conditions,  to  the  sheer 
materialism  of  the  "  damned  compact  majority." 
Borg  is  not  the  laughing  philosopher,  but  the  pre- 
sumptuous egoist  —  a  magnificent,  tragic  moral 
**  high-brow,"  toppled  over  by  the  arrant  madness 
of  his  own  individualism.  Strindberg,  the  sincere 
artist,  here  proves  his  weakness  as  a  social  philoso- 
pher; his  system  falls  to  pieces  of  its  own  unbal- 
anced weight.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  Strindberg 
reveals  himself  the  disillusioned  idealist,  acknowl- 
edging the  tragedy  of  social  necessity,  and  unshrink- 
ingly delineating  the  hideous,  yet  inevitable,  pen- 
alties of  contemporary  civilization.  Antipodal  to 
the  reflective  and  anemic  mollycoddle,  Strindberg 
glorifies  the  red  corpuscle  in  art,  and  dares  take  the 
consequence  of  inconsequence. 

The    next    great    spirtual    crisis    through    which 
Strindberg  passed  is  revealed  in  that  marvellous, 


30  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

yet  glaringly  personal,  revelation,  A  Fool's  Confes- 
sion (1888).  As  his  animus  against  the  female 
sex,  fortified  by  the  attacks  upon  him  by  the  ad- 
vocates of  the  woman's  rights  movement  in  Scan- 
dinavia, became  settled  into  an  idee  fixe,  the  re- 
lations between  him  and  his  wife  became  strained 
to  the  breaking  point.  He  fretted  against  the 
matrimonial  bond,  seeking  again  and  again  to  break 
away.  The  struggle  was  a  titanic  one  —  for  deep 
seated  within  him,  preserved  intact  from  childhood, 
was  his  love  for  his  mother  which  gave  rise  to  his 
veneration  for  the  conception  of  motherhood.  The 
indestructible  link  which  binds  man  to  woman  — 
the  children  —  held  him  constant  for  a  time ;  but 
at  last  the  breaking  point  was  reached.  The  dread- 
fully astute  analysis  of  the  torturing  conflicts  in  that 
harassed  household  is  the  content  of  A  Fool's  Con- 
fession. 

The  unblushing  frankness  of  this  confession  can 
only  shock,  with  its  basic  indiscretion,  the  American 
reader,  nurtured  upon  ideals  of  chivalry  towards 
woman  and  shielded  by  Anglo-Saxon  convention 
from  the  indiscretions  of  artistic  autobiography. 
Even  Strindberg  himself  felt  the  need  of  disclaim- 
ing responsibility  for  what  he  described  as  a  "  ter- 
rible book  " ;  for  he  avers,  correctly  it  is  believed, 
that  it  was  published  in  Swedish  without  his  consent, 
and  even  without  his  knowledge.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  the  most  significant  exemplification  which  Strind- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  31 

berg  has  left  of  his  esthetic  doctrine  that  art  is  a 
vast  arena  for  experimentation  with  self.  Indeed, 
it  may  fairly  be  said  that  he  used  all  experiences  as 
esthetic  material  for  self-justification.  It  was  the 
fatal  weakness  of  his  temperament,  as  well  as  of 
his  esthetic  creed,  to  generalize  from  personal  data, 
to  identify  the  Individual  with  the  universe.  It  Is 
the  fundamental  weakness  of  all  thesis-literature: 
to  put  the  part  for  the  whole.  Like  a  camera  held 
too  close  to  the  object,  Strlndberg  throws  into 
ghastly  disproportion  that  which  is  nearest  to  him. 
No  artist  of  modern  times  has  been  so  pre-emi- 
nently successful  in  the  shattering  of  perspective. 
This  confession  of  a  fool  is  not  misnamed  —  Its 
mood  Is  splenetic,  atrablliar,  repulsive.  Even  the 
wonderful  psychological  skill  in  recreating  experi- 
ences, the  diabolic  accuracy  of  the  portrayal,  cannot 
atone  for  its  lack  of  refinement.  Its  essential  coarse- 
ness. If  there  can  be  any  justification  for  this  ex- 
posure of  the  life  of  a  woman,  his  wife  for  thirteen 
years,  the  mother  of  his  children.  It  Is  neither  moral 
nor  social.  It  Is  an  esthetic  plea  for  realistic  free- 
dom In  art.  But  even  an  artist's  sincere  effort  to 
depict  the  struggles  of  a  highly  intellectual  person 
to  emancipate  himself  from  the  obsession  of  sex 
does  not  excuse  the  grossest  violation  of  the  sancti- 
ties of  personality. 

The  divorce  from  his  wife  In  1892  —  a  step  un- 
dertaken only  after  many  struggles  and  great  stress 


v/ 


32  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS  y 

of  feeling,  was  momentous  In  a  permanent  sense.' 
It  IS  the  preliminary  to  the  supreme  crisis  In  Strind- 
berg's  life.  Strlndberg  was  thrice  married  —  the 
second  time,  to  Frida  Uhl,  a  young  Austrian  writer, 
in  1893,  with  whom  he  lived  only  a  few  years; 
and  the  third  time  to  Harriet  Bosse,  the  Norwegian 
actress,  In  1901,  from  whom  he  was  divorced  three 
years  later.  These  two  unions  appear  to  have  been 
episodes  in  Strlndberg's  life  —  stages  in  the  course 
of  his  spiritual  development.  For  we  must  realize 
this  truth  about  Strlndberg  —  that  life  with  him 
I  was  a  form  of  excuse  for  art.  An  investigator,  a 
iresearch-worker  in  the  laboratory  of  the  soul,  he  was 
;wllllng  to  pay  the  price  of  the  intensest  emotional 
\  experiences  for  the  sake  of  their  value  as  art-stuff. 
Inescapable  is  the  conviction  that  in  Strlndberg  is 
presented  the  dour  tragedy  of  one  surrendered  to 
self-torture  in  behalf  of  art.  His  life  continually 
lay  shattered  in  pieces  about  him  because  of  his 
passionate  convictions.  Strlndberg  makes  many  an 
arresting  gesture  of  singularly  alluring  grace  in  his 
marvellous  writings  —  but  how  dearly  bought,  how 
bitterly  expiated  these  rapt  ecstasies,  these  alluring 
gestures  of  fitful  passion  and  melancholic  despair! 
If  he  was  ever  witty,  we  feel  that  Strlndberg  —  to 
employ  a  phrase  of  Benedetto  Croce  —  was  but 
laughingly  snatching  a  nail  from  a  gaping  coffin. 

The  stress  and  dissonance  of  Strlndberg's  second 
marriage  and  subsequent  divorce  was  the  ultimate. 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  33 

the  immediate  signal  for  the  crisis  of  the  "  great 
climacteric  "  in  his  life.  If  we  glance  for  a  moment, 
also,  at  the  contemporary  spirit  with  which  Strind- 
berg  was  vitalized,  we  shall  attain  to  an  intuitive 
comprehension  of  the  subsequent  confusion,  groping 
and  ultimate  reconciliation  of  his  spirit.  From 
childhood,  feeling  reaction  against  his  environment, 
conscious  of  his  vast  superiority  to  those  about  him, 
he  feverishly  struggled  to  elevate  himself  to  the 
heights.  Along  with  this  titanic  ambition  went  the 
hectic  dream  of  Idealism  —  the  fanatical  search  for  • 
happiness.  Guided  by  titanic  ambition,  he  cast  off 
the  shackles  of  provinciality  for  the  freedom  of 
cosmopolitanism  —  seeking  to  realize  himself  as  a 
great  modern  master,  now  in  Switzerland,  now  in 
Germany,  now  in  France.  When  Germany  finally 
hailed  him  as  one  of  the  pre-eminent  figures  of  the 
era,  it  was  a  Germany  chaotically  revolutionary  in 
art,  in  a  state  of  confused  transition  between  head- 
long repudiation  of  the  old,  uncertain  grasping  after 
the  unrealized  new.  The  old  beauties  were  no 
longer  beautiful,  the  new  truths  no  longer  true. 
With  the  fierce  zeal  of  the  creator,  the  pioneer  in 
art,  Strindberg  produced  works  which  enraptured 
Germany  and  Europe,  not  less  for  their  highly- 
colored  tendency  than  for  their  artistic  depth  and 
validity  as  creations  of  enduring  art.  Without 
stressing  the  features  of  the  change,  it  Is  Indubitable 
that  Strindberg  finally  reached  the  stage  of  disillu- 


34  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

sionment.  Of  life,  he  demanded  happiness,  the  hap- 
piness of  the  marital  state,  with  wife  and  children; 
but  he  forfeited  the  happiness  that  might  perhaps 
have  been  his  because  he  was  never  able  to  accept 
things  as  they  are,  never  willing  to  surrender  him- 
self to  life's  immitigable  conditions.  For  him,  it 
was  an  impossibility,  in  Nietzsche's  phrase,  to  say 
Aye  to  the  Universe.     One  only  hazards  the  sur- 

^  mise  that,  had  Strindberg  been  capable  of  such  self- 
abnegation,  he  might  have  developed  into  a  great, 

•  strong,  sweet  soul,  profoundly  sympathetic  with  his 
fellow-beings,  vibrant  with  comprehension  of,  com- 
miseration for,  human  foibles  and  frailties.  There 
were  depths,  profundities  in  Strindberg's  nature, 
both  as  man  and  artist,  which  called  to  answering 
depths,  profundities  in  human  consciousness.  His 
recognition  of  the  ultimate  futility  of  his  marital  ex- 
periences was  no  less  pronounced  in  his  career  than 
his  recognition  of  the  instability  of  naturalism  in  art 
as  a  formula.  At  last  he  came  to  the  full  realiza- 
tion of  the  discrepancy  between  what  life  and  the 
era  had  to  offer  him,  a  realization  of  the  profoundest 
potentialities  of  his  own  nature  and  genius. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  —  the  spirit  of  one  who  flees 
to  sanctuary  —  that  Strindberg  sought  Paris  in 
1894.  His  old  absorption  in  chemistry,  the  desire 
to  surprise  the  mystery  of  atom,  molecule  and  ele- 
ment, once  more  came  over  him.  Along  with  it 
came  the  stirrings  of  the  equally  imperious  impulse 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  35 

—  to  surprise  the  mystery  of  faith,  conscience  and 
religion,  and  to  merge  himself  in  that  spiritual  world- 
consciousness  which  William  Blake  many  years  be- 
fore had  foreshadowed  with  the  power  and  imagina- 
tion of  the  seer.  It  was  only  another  phase  of  i 
Strindberg's  life  of  disillusion  that  Paris  had  not 
to  give  him  that  which  he  sought.  With  this  period 
of  his  career,  it  is  virtually  impossible  to  speak  with 
critical  authority,  for  there  is  no  tracing,  accurately, 
the  thin  line  demarking  the  sound,  the  sane,  from 
the  obsessed,  the  hallucinated.  There  Is  abundant 
evidence  of  his  lack  of  balance  in  his  feverish  wan- 
derings in  the  mazes  of  the  cruder  forms  of  occult- 
ism. A  Strindberg  caught  fast  in  the  meshes  of  a 
weird  complex  of  French  mysticism  and  American 
theosophy ! 

To  follow  Strindberg  through  the  Slough  of  De- 
spond of  his  Paris  days  and  after,  one  should  read 
those  strange,  harassing  books,  Inferno^  Legends, 
and  Alone,  Wonderful  as  are  these  works,  viewed 
as  the  autobiographic  confessions  of  a  great  creative 
artist,  they  chiefly  serve  as  records  of  mental  and 
spiritual  obsession.  Surely,  here  was  madness  to 
genius  close  allied.  For  it  was  not  legitimate  re- 
search in  which  Strindberg  was  absorbed,  but 
pseudo-scientific  superstition;  not  chemistry,  but  al- 
chemy. His  concentration  upon  the  problem  of  the 
transmutabllity  of  elements,  however,  is  just  now  be- 
ginning to  appear  in  a  more  rational  light,  in  view  of 


36 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


the  Interpretation,  by  Sir  William  Ramsay,  of  some 
of  his  own  discoveries.  Strlndberg's  fascinated  con- 
centration upon  the  problem  of  religion,  salvation 
and  the  future  life  is  of  a  piece  with  his  studies  in 
alchemy  —  both  are  pathological  symptoms.  Shaken 
to  the  very  centre  of  his  spiritual  existence  by  a  close 
study  of  Swedenborg,  Strlndberg  groped  vainly  about 
for  spiritual  consolation  and  the  poetic  certitudes  of 
faith.  His  was  a  religion  of  tortured  searching 
after  spiritual  faith.  As  he  sought  scientific  truth 
in  alchemy,  so  now  he  seeks  spiritual  truth  in  the 
obscurities  of  a  hazy  occultism.  Surely  at  this  time 
Strlndberg's  intellectual  and  psychical  centres  must 
have  been  in  very  unstable  equilibrium.  It  was  not 
the  eternal  verities  of  religion  which  drew  him  after 
them,  but  Its  transitory  delusions,  the  speculations 
of  mysticism  —  psychic  states,  second  sight,  tele- 
phatlc  communications,  obsessions.  There  could  be 
no  permanent  consolation  In  the  problematical 
phenomena  of  spiritualism;  and  In  the  end  Strlnd- 
berg emerged  triumphant  from  the  Slough  of  De- 
spond. In  answer  to  his  deep  spiritual  need,  his 
profoundly  felt  longing  for  certitude,  there  finally 
came  to  him  a  gently  consolatory  faith  —  that  faith 
which  he  pathetically  describes  In  Alone  as  "  a  con- 
dition of  the  soul  and  not  of  the  mind."  With  a 
consciousness  fundamentally  conscientious,  a  spirit 
innately  religious,  Strlndberg  may  be  said  to  have 
spent  his  life  vainly  listening  for  life's  harmonies,  | 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  37 

vainly  endeavoring  to  discover  some  latent,  internal 
interdependence  between  the  spiritual  forces  of  the 
universe.  That  Inner  harmony  discovered  by  Mae- 
terlinck, the  gentle  optimist,  was  forever  barred 
from  the  vision  of  Strindberg,  the  passionate  pessi- 
mist. 


In  Strindberg's  works  of  fiction,  polemic,  social, 
autobiographical,   one   seems  to  follow  the  errant 
pilgrimages  of  a  soul  distraught  with  the  obsession 
of  existence.     It  is  the  ancient  cry  from  the  depths : 
*'  Oh  I  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt  I  " 
In  Strindberg,  the  dramatist,  one  encounters  the  ti- 
tanic struggles  of  an  almost  superhuman  intellect, 
fretting  vainly  against  the  bars  of  life's  mysteries. 
With  every  concession  made  to  the  fatal  lack  of 
balance,    the    futurist   distortion   of   perspective,   it 
must   be   granted   that    Strindberg   was    singularly 
original  in  genius  and  at  the  same  time  singularly 
consistent  in  his  interpretation  of  the  riddle  of  life.  | 
There  is  no  error  so  crass  as  that  of  presuming,  withj 
hasty  generalization,  that  Strindberg  was  essentially! 
eccentric  —  dementedly  swinging  off  from  the  cen- ; 
tral  realities  of  life.     This  inner  meaning  of  Strind-f 
berg's  temperament  lies  at  the  very  heart   of  hisj 
nature,  which  pulsed  violently  in  the  midst  of  the| 
most  fantastic  realities.     Never  did  artist  so  per- j 
sistently  cleave  to  the  centre  of  his  own  being  in  his  \ 


38  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

effort  to  project  for  the  world's  inspection  the  inner 
significance  of  contemporary  existence.  Strindberg 
is  the  most  ego-centric  dramatist  who  has  ever  lived. 
If  Shakspere  was  actually,  as  Mr.  Frank  Harris 
vehemently  implies,  the  Strindberg  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan era,  by  the  same  token  is  Strindberg  the 
Shakspere  of  the  Nietzschean  age  —  a  supremely 
daemonic  bohemian  of  the  soul. 

It  was  Strindberg  who  embodied  in  his  own  per- 
sonality the  affirmative  answer  to  Nietzsche's  sin* 
ister  query :  "  Why  should  not  life  be  intolerable  ?  " 
In  him  was  a  spirit  of  divine  discontent,  of  volcanic 
denial  —  raging  fiercely  against  the  evils  revealed 
to  his  searching  gaze  and  giving  no  quarter  to  his 
adversaries.  One  of  the  most  conclusive  proofs  of 
his  greatness  is  the  fact  that  no  one  has  yet  succeeded 
in  taking  the  measure  of  his  stature.  He  is  that 
miracle  in  the  hierarchy  of  genius  —  an  incommen- 
surable force  in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  economy 
of  the  universe.  Strindberg  has  been  called  the 
only  dramatist  of  genuinely  Shaksperean  order  in 
modern  times  —  assuredly  true  in  the  dramatic 
sense  that  in  the  consciousness  of  no  other  contem- 
porary dramatist  do  conflicts,  antitheses,  crises, 
emanate  such  trenchant,  virile  reality.  The  secret 
of  his  marvellous  appeal  is  his  headlong  participa- 
tion in  the  destinies  of  his  dramatic  characters.  It 
is  because  he  threw  himself  so  vehemently  into  the 
arena  of  dramatic  struggle  and  dramatized  his  own 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  39 

tremeudous  struggle  that  his  art  works  seethe  with 
such  vital  force  and  energy. 

The  primitive  force  of  Strlndberg  starts  Into  eager 
life  In  the  early  play,  The  Outlaw  (1872)  and  fore- 
shadows the  leonine  genius.  The  delicate  beauty 
of  womanhood,  the  enduring  strength  of  loyalty, 
the  tenacious  rectitude  of  rude,  primitive  force  — 
all  are  rendered  with  trenchant  economy  of  means 
in  this  "  dramatic  experiment."  Thus  early  Strlnd- 
berg foresaw  the  virtue  of  intensive  concentration 
of  treatment  —  fusing  an  Incohesive,  scattered  play 
of  five  acts  Into  a  single,  organic  play  of  a  single  act. 
Thorfinn,  the  heroic  Norseman,  adamantine  in  his 
barbaric  strength,  Is  shattered  against  the  passive, 
supreme  invincibility  of  the  Christian  Ideal,  the 
dawning  Ideal  of  the  age.  Says  Orne  to  Thorfinn: 
"  It  Is  the  age  you  have  warred  against,  and  that 
has  slain  you  —  It  Is  the  lord  of  the  age.  It  Is  God 
who  has  crushed  you."  There  Is  tragic  majesty  in 
the  death  of  Thorfinn,  who  lacks  the  superhuman 
strength  "  never  to  regret  anything  one  does  ";  and 
in  dying,  expiates  and  atones  with  a  blessing  upon 
his  daughter,  Gunlod,  a  convert  to  Christianity, 
and  her  lover,  Thorfinn's  enemy.  In  yielding  to  the 
strength  of  supreme  emotion,  he  yields  in  symbol  his 
heart's  blood  —  realizing  at  the  last  the  divine  force 
of  woman's  love.  For  "  woman  thinks,  not  with 
her  head,  but  with  her  heart.  That's  why  she  has  a 
smaller  head,  but  a  bigger  breast  than  man." 


I 


40  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Upon  one  occasion,  I  was  conducted  by  Mrs.  Ibsen 
into  her  husband's  study  at  the  apartment  on  the 
Victoria  Terrace,  in  Kristiania ;  and  there,  above  the 
mantel,  was  hanging  a  magnificent  oil  painting  of 
August  Strindberg.  As  presiding  genius  of  the 
place,  this  impressive  figure  with  noble  head  and 
tragic,  haunting  eyes  seemed  to  dominate  the  room. 
Asked  why  he  gave  the  place  of  supreme  honor  in 
that  laboratory  of  the  dramatic  spirit  to  the  titanic 
Swede,  Ibsen  —  I  was  told  by  the  querist  —  replied: 
"  The  man  has  a  fascination  for  me  —  because  he 
is  so  subtly,  so  delicately  mad."  There  was  some- 
thing far  deeper  than  this  which  caused  the  electric 
interaction  between  these  two  geniuses  —  so  anti- 
podal in  temperament,  yet  so  cognate  in  the  faculties 
of  intuitive  perception  and  searching  introspective- 
ness.  Ibsen,  Bjornson,  Strindberg  —  the  three 
Scandinavian  geniuses  —  each  felt  the  mental  pres- 
sure of  the  others,  and  responded  to  it.  There 
yet  remains  to  be  written  the  history  of  that  period 
in  Scandinavian  literature  which  shall  reveal  the  in- 
fluences these  three  exerted,  the  one  upon  the  other. 
Certainly  The  Outlaw,  if  nothing  else  of  Strind- 
berg's,  was  suggested  by  Bjornson's  Between  the 
Battles, 

During  the  period  from  1872  to  1884,  the  strong- 
est indications  appear  of  the  influences  Strindberg  and 
Ibsen,  more  or  less  consciously,  exerted  upon  each 
other.     In  The  Pretenders  (1862),  Ibsen  projects 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  41 

the  conflict  between  two  strong  temperaments  —  Ha- 
kon,  the  Incarnation  of  Innate  confidence,  and  Skule, 
the  Introspective  and  brooding  Hamlet  type;  and  the 
latter,  after  appropriating  the  former's  Intuitional 
conception  and  winning  temporary  success,  ultimately 
goes  down  in  tragic  defeat,  wrecked  through  his  lack 
of  faith  in  himself  and  his  consciousness  of  guilt. 
This  play  must  have  exerted  a  powerfully  sugges- 
tive Influence  upon  Strlndberg  In  the  composition  of 
Master  Olof,  originally  entitled,  more  adequately. 
The  Renegade.  In  Ibsen's  play  there  is  something 
schematic  and  artificial  In  the  psychological  basis  of 
the  action;  Strlndberg  outstrips  Ibsen  in  portraying 
a  central  figure  more  closely  attuned  to  the  temper 
of  modern  social  feeling.  The  hero  of  Strindberg's 
play  Is  a  renegade  because,  like  Peer  Gynt,  he  yields 
to  the  blandishments  of  compromise,  and  in  order  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  ultimate  realization  of  his 
larger  purpose,  strikes  the  banner  of  his  ideal  to 
sheer  necessity.  The  philosophy  of  expediency  of- 
tentimes yields  more  tangible,  more  practically  pro- 
ductive results ;  yet  the  seer,  in  whom  we  discern  the 
spiritual  lineaments  of  Strlndberg,  holds  a  renegade 
he  who  sacrifices  to  transient  and  temporal  success 
the  magic,  affective  force  of  the  ideal.  The  proto- 
type of  the  modern  woman,  of  the  Nora  of  A  DolVs 
House,  is  found  full-fledged  in  this  same  play — a 
remarkable  evidence  of  the  prophetic  modernity  of 
Strindberg's  social  vision.     Strindberg's  anticipation 


\ 


42  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  Ibsen,  which  in  this  case  takes  the  form  of  a  sin- 
gle type,  is  more  conclusively  evidenced  in  The  Secret 
of  the  Guild  ( 1880) ,  written  twelve  years  before  the 
appearance  of  The  Master-Builder.  Ibsen's  early 
poem.  Architectural  Plans,  must  have  been  far  less 
germinative  for  The  M aster-Builder  than  Strind- 
berg's  utilization  in  The  Secret  of  the  Guild  of  the 
building  of  the  tower  as  a  creative  symbol  in  dramatic 
technique.  Imperfectly  employed  by  Strindberg, 
this  suggestive  symbol  was  utilized  by  the  more  ex- 
perienced craftsman  with  magicianly  mastery  and 
far-reaching  suggestiveness.  Austin  Harrison  goes 
so  far  as  to  assert:  "  Through  Solness  Ibsen  spoke 
directly  at  Strindberg.  The  much-debated  line  of 
The  Master-Builder,  *  It  is  youth  that  I  fear,'  was 
aimed  across  the  border  at  the  young  Swede,  in  whom 
Ibsen  saw  already  a  peer  and  a  highly  dangerous 
rival."  Compliment  seldom  takes  so  subtle  a  form 
as  the  bold  utilization  of  an  idea,  and  the  expressed 
dread  of  the  coming  supremacy  of  its  originator. 
Ibsen  owed  his  debt  to  this  young  Norwegian  rival 
who  fascinated  him  with  his  not  wholly  deranged 
creative  originality!  In  Lady  Margit,  with  its  tor- 
rential onslaught  upon  what  he  regarded  as  the  es- 
sential defeminization  of  woman  in  A  DolVs  House, 
Strindberg  takes  his  revenge  —  a  polemic  in  dramatic 
form  against  the  coming  reign  of  the  matriarch. 

The  most  radiant  proof  of  the  happy,  naive  side 
of  Strindberg's  nature,  the  grace  of  his  fantasy  and 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  43 

the  delicacy  of  his  Imagination,  Is  found  in  Lucky  \ 
Pehr  (1883),  an  allegorical  play  In  five  acts.  Itl 
assuredly  Influenced  Maeterlinck  In  the  writing  of 
The  Blue  Bird  —  each  depicting,  In  allegorical 
guise,  the  spiritual  progress  of  youth  In  the  search 
for  happiness.  In  the  play  of  the  lively  fancy  of 
the  author,  we  see  the  young  Pehr,  endowed  with 
the  ring  which  will  gratify  all  his  wishes  and  under 
the  protective  care  of  the  gentle,  wisely  maternal 
Lisa,  start  forth  upon  his  aimless  wanderings.  In 
fastastic  scenes.  Irradiated  with  shrewd  philosophy 
and  kindly  humor,  young  Pehr,  callow,  innocently 
selfish,  passes  alternately  from  disillusion  to  disillu- 
sion —  thinking  naught  of  others,  vainly  seeking  the 
self-gratification  which  ever  eludes  him.  His  friend- 
ship is  sought  for  his  gold,  he  is  betrayed  by  a 
temptress;  he  learns  the  vanity  of  society,  the  shal- 
lowness of  convention.  The  lawyer,  with  light 
cynicism,  assures  him :  "  When  one  through  riches 
has  risen  to  the  community's  heights,  one  belongs  to 
the  whole  '' —  a  satirical  hit  at  the  modern  ideal  of 
social  service.  Pehr  sees  no  deeper  than  to  wish 
to  be  a  great  reformer  —  that  he  may  be  "  honored 
and  Idolized  by  the  people,  and  have  his  name  on 
everyone's  lips" !  He  tries  to  carry  out  his  reforms 
—  but  finds  every  man's  hand  against  him.  Even 
the  cobbler  objects  to  having  flagstones  instead  of 
cobblestones,  because,  forsooth,  It  will  "  hurt  busi- 
ness " —  a  familiar  cry.     The  pillory  is  Pehr's  final 


44  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

refuge  as  a  reformer.  His  gratified  wish  to  be 
great  and  powerful  ends  in  like  disaster  —  for  in 
order  to  become  ruler  he  finds  that  he  must  sacrifice 
all  his  ideals  for  political  considerations.  There 
is  no  real  liberty,  only  Constitutional  Despotism; 
no  religious  freedom,  only  the  Established  Church; 
no  personal  liberty,  only  Court  Etiquette;  no  free- 
dom to  marry,  only  Considerations  of  State. 
Finally  he  faces  Death  —  and  pleads  for  life  that 
he  may  search  further  for  happiness  among  his  own 
kind.  Death  warns  him :  "  You  should  not  seek 
human  beings,  for  they  cannot  help  you."  When 
he  learns  that  he  who  loves  only  himself  can  never 
love  another,  he  is  on  the  brink  of  discovery.  Like 
Peer  Gynt,  he  learns  to  slay  the  craving  to  make 
himself  the  centre  around  which  all  others  revolve 
—  and  in  the  discovery  of  unselfishness  comes  safely 
to  the  glad  haven  of  happiness  with  the  tenderly 
faithful  Lisa.  The  Shadow  tolerantly  voices 
Strindberg^s  view:  "  Life  is  not  such  as  you  saw  it 
in  your  youthful  dreams.  It  is  a  desert,  that  is  true; 
but  a  desert  which  has  its  flowers ;  it  is  a  stormy  sea, 
but  one  that  has  Its  havens  by  verdant  Isles." 

VI 

\  Strindberg's    headlong    plunge    into    naturalism, 

marked  by  the  appearance  of  the  powerful  drama, 
The  Father y  In  1887,  registers  a  double  turning- 
point  in  his  life  as  artist  and  man.     The  mono- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  45 

graphic  method  of  Maupassant  and  the  de  Goncourts 
In  fiction  awoke  him  to  the  possibilities  of  the 
naturalistic  drama;  and  Zola's  dramatized  novel, 
Theresa  Raquin,  produced  by  Antolne  at  his 
Theatre  Libre  In  Paris  In  1887,  furnished  the  clue 
for  the  new  departure.  Strindberg,  ever  the  Inno- 
vator, the  Bahnhrecher,  not  only  realized  the  dearth 
of  creative  genius  and  the  sterility  of  Invention  In 
the  drama,  but  even  stood  in  fear  of  the  threatened 
abandonment  of  the  drama  as  a  decaying  form,  in 
our  time  "  when  the  rudimentary.  Incomplete 
thought  processes  operating  through  our  fancy  seem 
to  be  developing  into  reflection,  research  and 
analysis."  Like  Zola,  he  was  ripe  for  rebellion 
against  the  prevailing  artificial  comedy,  "  with  Its 
Brussels  carpets.  Its  patent-leather  shoes  and  patent- 
leather  themes,  and  its  dialogue  reminding  one  of 
the  questions  and  answers  of  the  catechism." 

Strlndberg's  revolt  was  experimental  In  the  deep- 
est sense  —  In  the  same  sense  In  which  Zola  speaks 
of  the  experimental  novel.  The  dramatist  of  the 
era  seemed  to  have  become  a  mere  absorptive  spirit, 
who  vulgarized  his  art  for  the  sake  of  rendering 
it  intelligible  to  and  effective  with  the  masses.  This 
reduction  of  electric  genius  to  so  many  candle  power, 
in  order  to  penetrate  the  consciousness  of  Intellectual 
mediocrity,  revolted  Strindberg.  His  own  ideal  was 
the  precise  reverse  —  to  express  his  originality  with 
pristine  clarity  and  to  achieve  the  most  Intensive, 


46  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

concentrated  effect  through  bringing  his  complex  and 
multiplex  ideas  to  a  burning,  focal  point. 

About  him  he  saw  everywhere  the  predominance 
of  the  stereotyped  in  character-drawing,  the  prev- 
alence of  the  static  character  —  artificial  automata, 
dummies  labelled  with  a  tag,  incapable  of  change, 
development,  growth.  The  hope  for  the  drama  — 
the  drama  which  Ibsen  and  Bjornson  at  this  time 
were  so  triumphantly  creating  in  new,  mobile  forms 
— lay  in  the  enlargement  of  the  conception  of  char- 
acter, the  objectification  upon  the  stage  of  the 
dynamically  evolutionary  modern  soul,  such  as 
Strindberg  felt  himself  personally  to  be.  Like 
Nietzsche  before  him,  like  Bergson  to-day,  Strind- 
berg intuitively  felt  the  pressure  of  the  concept  of 
creative  evolution  —  seeing  In  the  modern  human 
temperament  a  vast  complex  of  thought  currents, 
emotive  Impulses  —  often  self-contradictory,  Incon- 
sequent, atavistic  and  yet  Instinctively  vital,  fervent, 
intense.  Instead  of  regarding  character  as  fixed, 
and  the  age  as  stationary,  he  determined  to  show 
both  In  flux.  His  characters  may  justly  be  described. 
In  a  German  phrase,  as  the  U ehergangsmenschen 
etner  Uehergangszeit  —  transitional  beings  in  a 
transitional  era. 

It  Is  characteristic  of  Strindberg  that.  In  his  effort 
to  portray  the  most  vital,  most  Intense  form  of  con- 
flict, he  should  Instinctively  find  his  dramatic  theme 
In  the  torturing  conflicts  of  his  own  family  life. 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  47 

Between  Strindberg  and  his  first  wife,  two  highly  in- 
dividualized, fundamentally  antipathetic  characters, 
vital  differences  presented  themselves  —  on  the 
subject  of  feminism,  woman's  right  to  unbridled 
freedom,  the  direction  and  control  of  children,  the 
relative  measure  of  the  sexes.  In  Lady  Margit, 
with  the  sub-title  Sir  Bengfs  Wife,  a  historical  play 
of  the  Reformation  period,  Strindberg  had  already 
revealed.  In  pitiless,  glacial  analysis  of  a  woman's 
soul,  his  Intolerant  attitude  towards  the  modern  type 
of  the  denaturlzed  feminine.  And  yet,  with  all  its 
implacability,  it  does  not  prepare  us  for  the  shock- 
ing figure  of  Laura  in  The  Father,  Here  is  re- 
vealed the  fundamental  weakness  of  the  thesis- 
drama;  for  we  cannot  accept  as  representatively 
human  a  character  reproduced  with  diabolic  exacti- 
tude from  a  real  person,  who  was  almost  certainly'i 
degenerate,  and  whom  Strindberg  hated  as  the  in-' 
carnation  of  all  that  woman,  the  ideal  woman,  should 
not  be. 

The  Father  is  a  drama  of  the  most  powerfully 
intensive  struggle,  on  the  plane  of  mental  sugges- 
tion—  the  supreme  drama  of  Its  kind.  These 
characters  live  with  feverish  and  intense  vitality 
—  a  vitality  transfused  Into  them  from  Strlndberg's 
own  powerfully  vibrant  being.  Cut  them,  and  they 
will  palpably  bleed  —  the  blood  of  martyrs  and  im- 
penitents.  We  achieve  Immortality  through  the 
transmission  of  personality  and  faith  to  our  posterity 


48  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

—  the  greatest  mission,  In  Strlndberg's  eyes,  Is  the 
mission  of  paternity.  Hence  the  tragic  conflict  — 
between  the  father,  fixed  In  his  determination  to 
direct  and  control  the  future  of  the  child,  and  the 
mother,  endowed  with  Indomitable  will,  infinitely 
unscrupulous,  diabolically  cunning.  By  subtly  poi- 
sonous suggestion,  the  woman  implants  in  the  mind 
of  the  distraught  man  the  deranging  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  is  the  father  of  his  child  —  a  doubt 
which  grows  into  the  idee  fixe  of  mania.  This  tre- 
mendous drama  can  only  be  fully  understood  in  its 
symbolic  guise.  It  is  the  terrible  plea  of  the 
elemental  male  for  the  rights  of  fatherhood,  the 
patriarchal  functions  of  man  as  the  ruler  of  the  fam- 

^/  ily,  holding  within  his  hand  the  directive  control 
of  the  future  of  his  posterity.  In  this  drama 
Strindberg  gives  free  play  to  his  essentially  barbaric 
feelings,  and  arraigns  woman  with  a  ferocity  little 
short  of  hideous. 

We  shall,  assuredly,  do  Strindberg  a  gross  in- 
justice if  we  label  him.  Inconsiderately,  a  misogynist. 
Laura  is  a  symbolic  figure;  not  the  modern  concep- 
tion of  Everywoman,  but  a  super-real  personifica- 

L .  tlon  of  the  final  possibilities  of  wickedness  in  woman. 
Laura  is  not  that  "  female  of  the  species,"  more 
deadly  than  the  male,  of  which  Kipling  speaks, 
but  the  Incorporation  of  the  Principle  of  Evil  as 
expressed  in  the  attributes  of  the  specific  female. 
"  Not  long  ago,'*  says  Strindberg  in  his  remarkable 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  49 

Preface  to  Miss  Julia,  "  they  reproached  The 
Father  with  being  too  sad, —  just  as  if  they  wanted 
merry  tragedies.  Everybody  is  clamoring  arro- 
gantly for  *  the  joy  of  life,'  and  all  theatrical  man- 
agers are  giving  orders  for  farces,  as  if  the  joy  of 
life  consisted  in  being  silly  and  picturing  all  human 
beings  as  so  many  sufferers  from  St.  Vitus'  dance 
or  idiocy.  I  find  the  joy  of  .life  in  its  violent  and 
cruel  struggles,  and  my  pleasure  lies  in  knowing 
something  and  learning  something.  And  for  this 
reason  I  have  selected  an  unusual  but  instructive 
case  —  an  exception,  in  a  word  —  but  a  great  ex- 
ception, proving  the  rule,  which,  of  course,  will  pro- 
voke all  lovers  of  the  commonplace." 

Strindberg's  attacks  upon  woman,  so-called,  are 
repellarit  and  repulsive  in  an  abnormal  degree.  It 
IS  no  matter  for  surprise  that  he  has  been  classified 
as  the  arch  misogynist,  the  most  radical  woman- 
hater  in  the  post-Schopenhauer  era.  He  struck  out 
ferociously  against  the  woman-ideal  of  Ibsen's  Nora, 
the  "  silly,  romantic  provincialism  of  Ibsen's  epicene 
squaw."  In  his  revolt  against  the  position  of 
Ibsen,  he  unhesitatingly  said :  "  My  superior  intel- 
ligence revolts  against  the  gyneolatry  which  is  the 
latest  superstition  of  the  free-thinkers." 

He  could  not  regard  with  patience  the  movement 
for  woman's  emancipation,  seeing  in  it  an  effort  to 
dethrone  Man  in  favor  of  Woman.  The  brute  male 
in  him  revolted  at  the  thought  of  seeing  man,  the 


50  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

*'  generator  of  great  thoughts,"  the  creator  of 
modern  civilization,  displaced  by  woman  whose  in- 
tellect, as  yet  undeveloped,  still  belonged  to  the 
bronze  age.  He  regarded  the  male  as  superior  in 
intellect  to  the  female,  but  weaker  as  an  antagonist, 
owing  to  the  imperfect  and  undeveloped  moral  sensi- 
bility of  the  female. 

Comrades,  arresting,  brutal,  is  the  cheapest  thing 
that  Strindberg  has  done.  Again  it  is  an  arraign- 
ment of  woman  —  a  lightly  sardonic  resumption  of 
the  idea  that  woman  is  inferior  to  man,  incapable 
of  final  rectitude,  lacking  that  delicacy  of  con- 
science, that  "  moral  elegance,"  which  man  wears 
like  a  plume!  These  are  admirably  drawn,  burn- 
ingly  living,  yet  repulsively  ignoble  figures  —  it 
would  be  nothing  short  of  farcical  to  see  in  each  a 
typical  specimen  of  their  respective  sexes  —  man, 
honorable,  sympathetic,  self-sacrificing;  woman, 
treacherous,  deceptive,  feline.  It  is  the  philosophy 
of  the  cave  man  done  over  In  modern  terms;  and  the 
primitive  woman  actually  likes  It  here  when  the  cave 
man  uses  the  club !  The  Strindberg  woman  is  cap- 
tivated, won  by  man-handling  —  she  would  he;  but 
Imagine  the  result  of  brute  force  tried  on  a  gentle- 
woman ! 

It  Is,  however,  the  gravest  error  to  confuse 
Strlndberg's  attitude  towards  woman,  carried  to 
abnormal  extremes  of  polemic  In  his  fierce  reaction 
against  the   "  new  woman "  propaganda  of  Scan- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  51 

dinavia,  with  his  own  personal  attitude  towards 
woman  of  the  ideal  type  present  in  his  own  conscious- 
ness. That  abnormal  sexuality  which  Laura  Mar- 
holm  attributes  to  Strindberg,  resulting  in  funda- 
mental sex-aversion,  was  probably  only  an  apparent, 
and  not  an  actual,  abnormality  of  nature.  Like  the 
youthful  Tolstoi,  Strindberg  as  a  young  man  in- 
dulged In  orgiastic  sexual  excesses,  with  the  in- 
evitable result  of  brushing  off  forever  the  bloom 
from  the  surface  of  erotic  life.  The  whole  course 
of  Strindberg's  works  shows  him  essentially  clean, 
if  subtly  plebeian,  in  his  feelings  about  sex. 

Miss  Julia  is  one  of  the  most  startling,  most 
shocking  plays  of  our  era;  but  Its  ugly  theme  Is  Its 
chief  reason  for  existence.  In  his  notable  Preface, 
St;rindberg  —  who  really  seems  to  have  Influenced 
Bernard  Shaw  In  several  striking  respects  —  gives 
the  most  elaborate  explications  of  the  purpose, 
meaning,  and  significance  of  the  tragedy.  And  yet, 
after  all,  the  preface  Is  a  tricky  means  of  eking  out 
the  deficiencies  of  the  play.  It  may  well  be  Imagined 
that  Julia  would  never  have  yielded  had  it  not  been 
for  her  condition;  yet  never  a  hint  of  It  is  found  in 
the  play  Itself.  Then  there  Is  the  artificial  conflict 
suggested  by  the  two  strata  of  society  —  artificial 
because  whilst  Julia  falls,  even  to'  death,  a  victim 
of  progressive  inbreeding  of  diseased  stocks,  Jean 
climbs  not  at  all,  Instlnctly  servile,  cringing  at  the 
sound  of  the  master's  bell.     This  "  half-woman," 


52  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

as  Strindberg  calls  her,  Is  a  vanishing  type,  perish- 
ing eventually  "  either  from  discord  with  real  life, 
or  from  the  Irresistible  revolt  of  her  suppressed  In- 
stincts, or  from  foiled  hopes  of  possessing  the  man.'* 
Miss  Julia  Is  no  stranger  to  America,  often  piqued 
to  forbidden  curiosity  by  the  spectacle  of  the  woman 
of  society  eloping  with  her  chauffeur. 

It  was  the  tragedy  of  Strlndberg's  life  never  to 
rise  above  the  sex-disillusionment  which  came  from 
early  excess.  This  was  the  penalty  paid  In  full 
measure  by  one  thrice  married  and  thrice  divorced. 
He  was  never  able  to  awake  In  another  a  pas- 
sion as  Intense  as  his  own.  In  becoming  the  su- 
preme specialist  In  modern  eroticism  he  sacrificed 
the  possibility  of  making  the  great  discovery  —  of 
simple,  enduring  human  love.  There  Is  no  more 
tragic  figure  in  modern  times  than  this  Knight  of  the 
Sorrowful  Countenance,  with  pallid  lips  and  stricken 
gaze,  "  dementedly  wandering  from  Venusburg  to 
Venusburg." 

In  his  own  consciousness,  woman  was  worthy  of 
all  veneration  —  a  veneration  Instinctive  in  him 
from  his  earliest  childhood.  Life  itself  cruelly  per- 
sisted In  the  effort  to  shatter  that  illusion  of  his 
youth.  ^The  artist,  the  Idealist  In  Strindberg  ro- 
mantically endowed  woman  with  the  supreme  virtues 
—  loyalty,  faith,  devotion,  rectitude,  moral  in- 
tegrity —  and  painted  her  as  man's  equal  in  intel- 
ligence, his  superior  In  nobility.     When  life  betrayed 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  53 

his  faith,  and  the  age  threatened  to  enthrone  above 
man  this  creature  Strindberg  had  discovered  to  be 
so  full  of  weakness  and  frailty,  he  burst  forth  in 
passionate  protest,  which  was  only  a  secret  form  of 
vindication  of  his  own  ideal  of  woman/^i  His  atti- 
tude towards  woman  —  towards  the  type  to-day  ex- 
pressed In  the  term  militant  suffragette  —  was  not 
only  ungallant,  unchlvalric:  it  was  splenetic,  atra- 
billar.  In  his  view  of  the  sexes,  woman  is  man's  in- 
ferior in  the  life-scale  —  as  yet  undeveloped  in  intel- 
lect, artistic  perception,  and  moral  power;  but  he 
considers  this  biological  inferiority  counterbalanced 
by  other  specific  indicia  of  the  female  —  fixity  of  pur- 
pose,^endless  endurance,  subtle  calculation.  Strind- 
berg pays  woman  the  high  honor  of  holding  her  to 
be  a  foeman  worthy  of  the  sharpest  steel  of  man. 
He  holds  woman  fully  worthy  of  man  as  an  antagon- 
ist in  the  duel  of  sex.  In  his  plays,  woman  fights  for 
her  own  hand  with  unlimited  will-power  and  in- 
tellectual skill. 

Strindberg  can  only  be  properly  understood  if  we 
realize  that  the  duel  of  sex  is  not  always  a  contest  for 
sex  supremacy.  It  is  a  contest,  as  Strindberg  so 
diabolically  shows  in  Creditors,  of  the  woman 
for  the  right  to  illicit*  gratification  of  her  own 
instincts  —  regardless  of  honor,  fidelity,  or  modesty. 
Or  It  may  be,  as  in  The  Link,  a  mortal  strug- 
gle  for  the  possession   of  the   child.     There   was 

never  a  more  realistic  fragment  of  concentrated  life 
• ^ 


54  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

than  TJie  Link  —  a  virtual  replica  of  Strindberg's 
own  suit  for  divorce  from  his  first  wife.  One  by 
one,  the  curtains  are  drawn  aside;  and  these  two 
human  souls,  fighting  like  animals  for  the  child  that 
binds  them  together,  stand  at  last  in  utter  nakedness 
—  separated  by  an  abyss  like  a  yawning  hell.  In 
the  words  of  the  pilgrim  to  his  former  wife,  in 
Damascus:  "We  love.  Yes,  and  we  hate.  We 
hate  each  other,  because  we  love  one  another;  we 
hate  each  other  because  we  are  linked  together; 
we  hate  the  link,  we  hate  love ;  we  hate  what  is  most 
lovable  because  it  is  also  the  most  bitter,  we  hate 
the  very  best  which  gives  us  this  life."  In  the 
haunting  words  of  Oscar  Wilde: 

"  Some  kill  their  love  when  they  are  young, 

And  some  when  they  are  old ; 
Some  strangle  with  the  hands  of  Lust, 

Some  with  the  hands  of  Gold: 
The  kindest  use  a  knife,  because 

The  dead  so  soon  grow  cold." 

It  is  almost  incredible  that  Strindberg  never  set 
his  ideal  woman  before  us  on  the  stage.  Previsions 
of  this  feminine  ideal  are  found  in  certain  of  the 
early  plays  —  in  such  a  character,  for  example,  as 
Giinlod  in  The  Outlaw,  And  yet  this  ideal  of 
Strindberg's  may  definitely  be  disengaged,  after  a 
study  of  his  works.  For  Strindberg  has  the  antique, 
patriarchial  conception  of  the  family,  with  its  ven- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  55 

eration  for  the  woman  as  wife  and  mother.  Sur- 
passing man  in  tenderness,  in  temperamental  clever- 
ness, with  greater  breadth  of  horizon,  wider  human- 
itarian concern,  woman  must  nevertheless  remain, 
in  Strindberg's  view,  within  the  boundary  of  her 
own  "  sphere."  Woman  is  a  tremendously  power- 
ful original  source  of  human  energy,  to  which  man 
must  ever  recur  to  escape  annihilation  —  the  inter- 
mediary between  man  and  the  child,  upon  which  the 
world's  iuture  depends. 

Having,  then,  this  genuine  ideal  of  womanhood, 
this  old-fashioned  conception  of  woman  as  mother 
and  mate,  Strindberg  seems  strangely  illogical  in 
giving  us  a  gallery  of  hideous  female  types  —  in- 
carnations of  beasts  of  prey,  deadly  monsters,  the 
hyena  woman,  the  blue-stocking  cocotte.  The  rea- 
son is  not  far  to  seek  —  inexplicable  and  damning 
as  is  the  evidence  to  the  contrary.  With  an  im- 
perfectly developed  historic  sense,  so  far  certainly 
as  concerned  the  subject  of  woman's  economic  and 
spiritual  evolution,  Strindberg  was  too  arrant  a  wor/ 
shipper  of  man  as  the  creator  of  all  that  civilization 
has  wrung  from  barbarism,  ever  to  see  that  womanj 
as  she  is  to-day,  is  in  large  measure  the  handiwork, 
the  creature  of  this  same  admirable  myth  —  the 
perfect  man.  If  Strindberg's  women  are  charac- 
teristic and  representative  figures  of  our  era  — 
which  God  forbid !  —  man  cannot  shirk  the  responsi- 
bility for  these  damning  symptoms  of  man-made 


f 


^ 


S6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

civilization.  Strindberg's  women  are  not  typical  of 
the  female  species,  symbolic  representations  of 
Everywoman.  They  are  specific,  isolated,  yet  none 
the  less  actual,  existent,  types  of  feminine  degenera- 
tion, fatally  symptomatic  of  our  own  era  in  world- 
civilization.  They  are  the  most  eloquent  briefs 
in  behalf  of  militant  suffragism.  Woman  rightly 
seeks  to  shatter  man's  control  over  the  processes  of 
civilization,  and  to  share  it  with  him  —  to  obviate 
the  recurrence  of  the  types  of  women  which  Strind- 
berg  has  projected  into  the  focus  of  modern  con- 
sciousness. 

VII 

The  historian  of  the  contemporary  drama  of  the 
past  quarter  of  a  century  must  recognize  in  August 
Strindberg  a  creative  and  original  genius,  of  many- 
hued,  radiant  brilliance.  In  particular,  his  achieve- 
ment in  the  field  of  the  one-act  drama  on  the  stage 
of  an  intimate  theatre  has  been  nothing  less  than 
epoch-making.  His  method  of  focal  concentration, 
of  magnification  of  interest  through  intenslveness  of 
treatment,  imparts  to  even  his  briefest  efforts  the 
most  complete  illusion  of  reality.  In  his  esthetic 
creed,  the  dramatist  must  be  a  magician,  .a  hypnotist, 
weaving  about  the  spectator  a  spell  of  atmospheric 
illusion  which  holds  his  attention  with  the  utmost 
fixity.  By  the  elimination  of  all  superfluity  in  the 
stage  sets  and  the  scenery,  the  dramatic  figures  ap- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  57 

pear  as  integral,  organic  parts  of  their  surroundings. 
These  one-act  plays  of  Strlndberg's  are  essentially 
psychological,  even  psychical,  or  fantastic  In  tone; 
they  may  present  an  allegory  or  a  realistic  glimpse 
of  life  at  a  crucial  point.  The  "  stage-business  "  of 
the  mechanical  order  Is  virtually  eliminated ;  the  play 
of  emotion,  the  movements  In  the  depths  of  char- 
acter, are  portrayed  less  by  outcries  or  by  violent 
gestures,  than  by  the  play  of  facial  expression,  in- 
dicative through  mobility. 

Strlndberg's  one-act  plays  have  a  strong  cast  of 
Maeterlinck  about  them  —  they  are  soul-interiors 
thrown  for  a  brief  space  into  glaring  Illumination. 
The  Stronger,  in  which  only  two  female  characters 
appear,  one  remaining  silent  throughout  reading  a 
newspaper,  is  a  remarkable  dramatic  monologue  — 
the  thoughts  passing  through  the  mind  of  the  silent 
one  mirrored  as  it  were  in  the  words  of  the  speaker. 
The  one  actress  in  a  flash  of  intuition,  realizes  the 
price  she  has  paid  for  her  husband  —  who  is  the 
lover  of  the  other  actress.  All  her  tender  little 
acts  of  solicitude  for  her  husband  —  hideous 
mockery !  —  were  indirectly  suggested  by  the  taste 
of  the  "  other  woman  " —  even  to  the  tulips  em- 
broidered on  his  slippers.  But  she  will  never  break 
with  her  husband  —  because  the  other  woman  seeks 
and  desires  it.     This  it  is  to  be  the  stronger. 

There  is  the  fascination  of  psychological  detec- 
tion of  crime  in  Pariah,  a  dialogue  between  two  men. 


58  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Mr.  X  and  Mr.  Y, —  which  In  a  few  brief  exchanges 
of  ideas  gives  a  complete  presentment  of  two  well- 
defined  characters  —  one,  the  man  of  courage  and 
essential  Integrity,  who  has  killed  another  and  feels 
no  pangs  of  conscience  because  he  realizes  Its  acci- 
dental character;  the  other,  the  coward  and  con- 
temptible blackmailer,  who  has  forged  a  note  and 
cannot  find  within  himself  the  saving  grace  of  self- 
exculpation.  There  is  the  kindly,  yet  sharp,  accent 
of  satire  in  Debit  and  Credit  —  the  man  who  has 
reached  the  pinnacle  of  fame  in  his  profession  sud- 
denly finding  all  the  obligations  of  his  past  rising  with 
accusing  hands  before  him  —  his  brother  demands 
the  payment  of  the  loan  which  he  has  long  evaded; 
his  fiancee  Is  proven  faithless;  his  former  mistress 
appears  to  add  the  last  drop  of  bitterness  to  his  cup. 
A  still  darker  theme  —  the  germ  Idea  of  Shaw's 
Mrs,  JVarren^s  Profession  —  is  presented  in  Mother- 
Love.  By  degrees,  half  accident,  half  design,  the 
young  girl's  faith  in  her  mother  i^  destroyed,  by 
overheard  gossip  and  by  the  confession  of  her  girl- 
chum,  the  legitimate  daughter  of  her  own  father. 
Lacking  the  businesslike  hardness  of  Vivie  Warren, 
this  young  girl  feels  life  turn  black  before  her  in  the 
face  of  the  hideous  discovery  —  that  she  has  no 
"  father,"  not  because  he  was  faithless  to  her  mother, 
but  because  her  mother,  even  as  his  mistress,  was 
faithless  to  him.  In  all  these  plays,  life  rises  up  for 
one  dread  instant  and  speaks  its  dread  lesson  —  in 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  59 

The  Burned  Lot,  that  sardonic  picture  of  the  shat- 
tering of  youthful  ideals  in  the  discovery  of  their 
essential  falsity,  based  on  lies  and  fostered  by  de- 
ceit; Simoon,  sinister  paean  of  revenge,  pitched  on 
a  key  of  religious  fanaticism;  The  Spook  Sonata, 
with  its  morbidly  fascinating  concept  of  the  room 
where  falsity  reigns  and  life's  ugly  shams  are  piti- 
lessly revealed;  The  Storm,  with  its  autobiographical 
ring  —  no  more  women,  no  more  taking  of  mates 
who  prove  faithless  —  only  peace  and  the  drowning 
of  memories.  There  is  wide  versatility  of  talent,  a 
fingering  of  many  themes,  in  these  little  intimate 
plays,  this  dramatic  form  which  Strindberg  created 
as  distinctively  as  Maupassant  and  Poe  created  the 
form  of  the  short-story  —  masters  who  exerted  a 
powerful  influence  upon  Strindberg. 

To  me  it  has  seemed  most  singular  that  so  gentle 
and  beautiful  a  work  of  the  imagination  as  Easter 
should  have  found  among  American  critics  no  inter- 
preter. Indeed,  among  English-speaking  critics 
this  unique  art  work  has  found  no  one  to  grasp  its 
purport  or  to  disengage  its  meaning.  Yet  this  Is 
the  play  which  gives  the  clue  to  the  unilluded,  bal- 
anced Strindberg,  instinct  with  the  Christian  spirit 
of  tolerance,  teaching  a  lesson  of  life  which,  had  he 
been  able  to  be  his  own  pupil,  would  have  saved 
him  from  unspeakable  anguish.  Strindberg's 
"Plays  of  the  Seasons" — Easter,  Midsummer, 
Christmas  —  are  significantly  representative  of  the 


6o  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

three-fold  nature  of  his  temperament,  as  well  as  of 
his  genius.  Raster  in  its  modernity  of  view-point 
—  a  sort  of  Swedish  anticipation  of  the  Emmanuel 
Movement  —  reveals  Strindberg  teaching  the  ad- 
vanced lesson  of  psychic  suggestion  —  the  imaginary 
character  of  so  many  of  our  woes,  the  efficacy  of 
certain  desired,  induced  mental  states.  '  It  is  vastly 
superior  to  Christmas,  suggestive  of  the  influence 
of  Maeterlinck,  dour  in  tone,  unrelieved  by  beauty, 
sweetness  and  light;  or  to  the  almost  frivolous 
comedy  of  Midsummer  —  in  which  the  bubble  of 
youthful  folly  is  pricked  to  the  accompaniment  of 
a  peal  of  not  unkindly  laughter. 

With  a  sadness  not  unlightened  by  subtly  humor- 
ous perception,  we  are  shown  in  EasUz^  a  family 
living  under  the  shadow  of  disgrace,  from  the  em- 
bezzlement of  the  funds  of  children  and  widows 
which  have  been  entrusted  to  the  father  of  the  fam- 
ily. With  restrained  art  of  the  most  unobtrusive 
simplicity,  the  characters  stand  forth  in  chiselled  dis- 
tinctness—  rich  in  homely  virtues,  patient,  conscien- 
tious, energetic,  but  all  narrowed  by  the  cheap  ideas 
of  familiar  convention,  seeing  heroes  and  heroines 
in  each  other  and  regarding  their  critics  and  creditors 
as  the  conventional  demons  and  villains  of  popular 
melodrama.  The  mother  Is  harassed  with  the  ob- 
session of  loyalty  —  the  self-Induced  conviction  that 
her  husband  was  Innocent  or  at  least  that  there 
must  have  been  some  flaw  In  the  legal  procedure 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  6i 

which  condemned  him.  Her  son  Elis,  the  young 
scholar,  distrusts  his  friend  and  rival,  frets  over 
his  lot  In  the  most  feebly  womanish  way,  and  lacks 
faith  even  In  his  betrothed,  Christina,  who  tries  to 
lift  the  depressing  burden  as  best  she  may.  Even 
little  Benjamin,  committed  to  the  charge  of  the  fam- 
ily because  of  the  father's  embezzlement  of  his  prop- 
erty, IS  an  Indirect  victim  of  the  abnormal  strain 
Imparted  to  the  family's  vision  —  he  falls  at  school 
In  his  examination.  As  Easter  approaches,  a  crisis 
seems  Imminent;  the  "  old  gentleman  "  to  whom  they 
owe  "  so  much  money  "  Is  seen  regarding  the  house 
fixldly,  and  a  darker  gloom  settles  down  over  the 
household  In  anticipation  of  the  foreclosure.  On 
Holy  Thursday,  the  little  daughter  Eleanora,  who 
has  been  confined  to  a  home  for  the  mentally  de- 
ficient, suddenly  returns,  to  work  the  holy  miracle  of 
faith,  hope,  resurrection.  She  Is  a  psychic  of  mar- 
vellous powers  of  Insight,  whose  former  violence 
now  takes  the  guise  of  spirituality,  re-enforced  by 
the  wisdom  of  the  Scriptures,  mystic  passages  from 
which  are  ever  upon  her  tongue.  Undfr  the  min- 
istration of  this  gentle  spirit,  the  Illusions  of  con- 
vention vanish  away;  the  scales  fall  from  the  eyes  of 
all.  The  old  gentleman  —  with  his  terrifying  blue 
document  —  breaks  down  the  false  pride  of  Elis  by 
forcing  him,  under  threat  of  foreclosure,  to  do  the 
right,  however  bitterly  his  conventional  pride  and 
false  sense  of  dignity  may  protest.     This,  truly,  is 


62  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

one  of  the  most  impressive  dramas  of  suggestion 
ever  written  —  a  work  of  genius  in  anticipation  of 
the  later  variations  on  the  same  theme,  of  a  more 
conventional  symbolism,  The  Servant  in  the  House, 
and  The  Passing  of  the  Third  Floor  Back.  This  ex- 
quisite drama  has  the  movement  of  psychic  forces 
only  —  the  material  action  is  virtually  nil.  There 
is  a  profound  life-lesson  in  this  play  —  it  is  not  the 
part  of  wisdom,  nor  even  of  sanity,  in  the  larger 
signification,  to  live  under  the  obsessions  of  self-pity, 
penny-plain  convention,  melodramatic  views  of  con- 
duct, false  pride.  As  the  glad  mother  exclaims: 
"  Eleanora  the  child  of  sorrow,  has  come  back  with 
joy,  but  not  the  joy  of  this  world!  Her  unrest  has 
been  turned  into  peace,  which  she  shares.  Sane  or 
not,  for  me  she  is  wise ;  for  she  understands  how  to 
bear  the  burdens  of  life  as  we  do  not." 

Through  the  subtle  suggestiveness  of  the  spirit 
of  faith,  hope,  charity,  all  regain  in  the  end  that 
happy  balance  which  the  sane  life  demands  —  and 
can  look  hopefully  forward  toward  the  future,  a 
future  of  promise,  of  readjustment,  of  manful  facing 
of  life's  grim  realities.  As  Velma  Swanston 
Howard,  the  sympathetic  translator  of  Easter  has 
said:  "  No  trace  of  the  old  bitterness  and  hatred  is 
to  be  found  here.  The  author  reveals  a  broad 
tolerance,  a  rare  poetic  tenderness  augmented  by 
an  almost  divine  understanding  of  human  frailties, 
as  marking  certain  natural  stages  in  the  evolution  of 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  63 

the  soul.  *  Clear  thoughts,  like  clear  fountains,  do 
not  seem  as  deep  as  they  are;  the  turbid  seem  most 
profound.'  These  words  of  Richard  Lander  might 
well  be  applied  to  Strindberg.  His  finest  and 
deepest  thoughts  are  as  simple  as  the  Gospels  whilst 
it  is  his  turbid  thoughts  which  seem  the  most  pro- 
found.*' 

VIII 

The  seriesjpi  fairy  plaj^,  symbolic  in  guise  and 
confessedly  initiated  under  the  influence  of  Maeter- 
linck, reveals  the  fundamental  bent  of  Strindberg 
towards  dramatic  empiricism.  Essentially  an  inno- 
vator, an  experimentalist  in  form,  Strindberg  here 
exhibits  his  genius  in  appropriating  a  given  genre, 
conceived  In  a  chosen  mood,  and  by  a  course  of  ex- 
perimentation, more  or  less  tentative  and  Imitative, 
achieving  a  final  form  peculiarly  his  own.  In  The 
Crown  Bride,  a  folk-lore  play,  reminiscent  of 
Heljermanns  In  richness  of  local  coloring,  of  Maeter- 
linck and  Ibsen  In  the  use  of  symbolic  figures,  we 
follow  the  bitter  punishment  of  a  young  girl  who 
has  drowned  her  offspring  before  marriage.  The 
poor  creature  is  hounded  down  by  her  husband's 
relatives,  and  suffers  the  remorse  and  torture  of  the 
damned.  There  Is  an  atmosphere  of  unreality 
about  the  incidents  —  Strlndberg's  persistent  realism, 
his  almost  grotesque  denotement  of  the  grim  naivete 
and  mediaeval  superstition  of  the  fisher-folk  accord 


64  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ill  with  the  symbolic  paraphernalia  of  the  piece. 
The  finale  Is  In  brighter  key,  with  Its  promise  of 
salvation  for  the  pitiful  girl  through  the  redemptive 
power  of  love.  For  her,  "  faith  Is  born  In  hope," 
when  she  discovers  the  "  greatest  thing  In  life,  the 
love  of  all  living  creatures,  great  and  small." 

The  Inequality  so  apparent  In  The  Crown  Bride  is 
totally  absent  from  Swanwhite,  the  "  fairy  drama  " 
published  In  1902,  and  intended  as  a  medium 
for  the  histrionic  genius  of  Strindberg's  third  wife, 
the  actress,  Harriet  Bosse.  The  play  has  all  the 
fanciful  stage-properties  so  familiar  In  The  Princess 
Maleine  and  other  plays  of  Maeterlinck  In  his  first 
period.  Indeed,  Strindberg  Is  unusually  lavish  In 
stage  directions;  and  one  almost  senses  parody  in  his 
Imperfect  employment  of  the  significant  brevity,  the 
almost  puerile  monosyllables  of  Maeterlinck.  There 
Is  beauty  here,  faint  yet  tender;  and  as  In  Joyzelle, 
love  Is  all-triumphant,  redeeming  even  the  "  wicked 
stepmother  "  and  recalling  the  "  fairy  prince  "  from 
the  dead  —  a  play,  truly,  for  children,  since  the 
symbolism  Is  of  the  most  elementary  and  obvious 
sort.  Produced  by  a  Gordon  Craig,  with  splendid* 
scenic  effects,  Swanwhite  might  well  win  popular 
success  In  a  Juvenile  Theatre. 

Through  this  experimental  and  imitative  period, 
Strindberg  was  slowly  forging  towards  a  form  of  his 
own,  far  greater  and  more  profound  than  the  models 
before  him.     The  realm  of  the  higher  fantasy  had 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  65 

always  beckoned  to  him  —  that  realm  where  life  in 
all  Its  manifestations  Instinctively  assumes  the  form 
of  parable  and  prophecy.  The  most  astounding 
testimony  to  the  versatile  greatness  of  Strindberg 
Is  that  he,  the  most  distinctive  naturalist  which  the 
modern  dramatic  movement  has  furnished,  could 
also  write  the  marvellous  fantasy  entitled  The 
Dream  Play.  Into  it  has  gone  at  once  his  blighted 
faith  in  the  consolations  life  can  afford  and  his  dis- 
illusionment over  the  sanctifying  and  redemptive  as- 
pects of  existence.  This  philosophy  of  life  takes 
mystic  form  through  the  unrollment  of  the  panorama 
of  human  destiny  —  love,  marriage,  faith,  science, 
religion  —  before  the  eyes  of  a  daughter  of  the 
gods  who  descends  to  earth.  The  infinite  sadness 
of  human  life,  the  eternal  recurrence  of  Its  devas- 
tating duties,  the  everlasting  return  of  self  on  self, 
the  rythmic  dissonance  and  discord,  the  perpetual 
bafflement  and  struggle  —  all  this  Is  revealed  through 
the  strangest  of  mediums.  It  is  the  macrocosm  In 
the  microcosm  —  the  dream  within  a  dream.  All 
Is  Inconsequence;  thoughts  ramble  concentrically. 
Strange  designs  emerge  with  singular  distinctness 
from  the  crazy-quilt  patch-work  of  life. 
^JThe  atmosphere  Is  perfectly  reflected  In  the 
author's  Prefatory  Note :  "  Anything  may  happen; 
everything  Is  possible  and  probable.  Time  and 
space  do  not  exist.  On  an  Insignificant  background 
of  reality,  Imagination  designs  and  embroiders  novel 


66  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

patterns:  a  medley  of  memories,  experiences,  free 
fancies,  absurdities  and  improvisations.  The  char- 
acters split,  double,  multiply,  vanish,  solidify,  blur, 
clarify.  But  one  consciousness  reigns  above  them 
all  —  that  of  the  dreamer;  and  before  it  there  are 
no  secrets,  no  incongruities,  no  scruples,  no  laws. 
There  Is  neither  judgment  nor  exoneration,  but 
merely  narration.  And  as  the  dream  is  mostly  pain- 
ful, rarely  pleasant,  a  note  of  melancholy  and  of 
pity  with  all  living  things  runs  right  through  the 
wabbly  tale."  The  play  transpires  In  the  hazy,  twi- 
light zone  of  mystic  feeling.  It  Is  the  dramatization 
of  unconscious  cerebration.  The  daughter  of  the 
gods  feels  In  all  their  force  the  pangs  of  life  —  and 
returns  to  heaven  to  lay  all  human  grievance  before 
the  throne.  There  seems  to  be  no  conception  here 
of  life  as  creative  evolution,  pushing  towards  higher 
spheres.  Life,  as  Strindberg  sees  It,  Is  hopeless 
because  It  Is  static,  immutable  —  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever.  In  the  depth  and  reach  of  the 
Imagination,  the  genius  to  interpret  reality  through 
the  medium  of  unreality,  this  is  assuredly  one  of  the 
most  marvellous  dramatic  achievements  of  modem 
times  —  unique,  incomparable. 

In  the  key  of  The  Dream  Play  are  written  aI§o 
two  other  plays  of  his,  so  singular  In  their  treatment, 
so  fascinating  In  their  power,  as  to  set  them  apart 
from  all  the  rest  of  his  work.  First  of  these  Is 
There  are  Crimes  and  Crimes ^  where  fantasy  and 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  67 

inconsequence  play  their  crucial  roles,  though  with 
subtle  unobtrusiveness.  This  play,  along  with  Ad- 
vent,  was  originally  published  under  the  title  In  a 
Higher  Court  —  a  title  singularly  apt  In  expressing 
the  quintessential  meaning.  The  play  is  rich  with 
the  seductive  brilliance  of  life  at  Its  most  effervescent 
moments  —  a  symbol  of  that  intoxication  which  shat- 
ters balance  and  causes  man  madly  to  sin  against 
the  light.  "  The  *  higher  court,'  In  which  are  tried 
the  crimes  of  Maurice,  Adolphe,  and  Henriette,* 
says  Mr.  Bjorkman,  the  translator,  "  Is,  of  course, 
the  highest  one  that  man  can  Imagine.  And  the 
crimes  of  which  they  have  all  become  guilty  are 
those  which,  as  Adolphe  remarks,  *  are  not  men- 
tioned In  the  criminal  code  ' —  In  a  word,  crimes 
against  the  spirit,  against  the  impalpable  power  that 
moves  us,  against  God.  The  play,  seen  in  this  light, 
pictures  a  deep-reaching  spiritual  change,  leading  us 
step  by  step  from  the  soul  adrift  on  the  waters  of 
life  to  the  state  where  It  Is  definitely  oriented  and 
Impelled."  This  play  Is  deserving  of  the  popularity 
which  It  has  achieved  —  of  high  constructive  power, 
Instinct  with  a  profoundly  salutary  injunction  for 
human  guidance.  It  Is  a  dramatization  of  the 
workings  of  conscience  —  a  realization  of  that  uni- 
versal phenomenon  to  which  all  human  nature  is 
heir,  the  revolutionary  Illumination  of  the  soul  which 
comes  through  divination  of  the  distinction  between 
right  and  wrong.     It  has  rare  interest,  subjectively, 


68 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


as  a  reflection  of  the  revolution  wrought  In  Strind- 
berg's  own  attitude  —  mirroring  a  sense  of  faith, 
hope  and  love  —  certitude  in  the  higher  reality  of  the 
divine.  "  Only  through  religion,"  Strindberg  has 
confessed,  "  or  the  hope  of  something  better,  and 
the  recognition  of  the  innermost  meaning  of  life  as 
that  of  an  ordeal,  a  school,  or  perhaps  a  penitentiary, 
will  it  be  possible  to  bear  the  burden  of  life  with 
suflUcient  resignation." 

The  second  of  these  realistic  dramas,  transfused 
with  mysticism,  is  The  Dance  of  Death  —  a  work  so 
powerful  in  detail,  yef  so  Inconclusive  in  totality,  as 
to  leave  one  with  a  haunting  sense  of  a  masterpiece 
unrealized.  In  statellness,  sweep,  and  grandeur,  It 
ranks  with  the  masterpieces  of  the  Greek  drama; 
in  naturalism,  modernity  of  outlook,  and  gripping 
power,  it  stands  unsurpassed  in  the  dramatic  liter- 
ature of  the  era.  Life,  In  a  setting  of  diabolical 
ferocity  and  hideous  struggle,  is  set  nakedly  before 
us  —  in  two  separate  plays,  the  second  but  the 
shadow,  the  reflection  of  the  first.  We  see  the 
drama  of  existence  played  out  before  our  stricken 
gaze  —  the  terrible  struggles  for  self-realization, 
arising  out  of  inequalities  In  condition,  incompati- 
bility in  temperament;  the  duel  of  sex,  a  duel  to  the 
death,  because  of  the  futPe  struggle  to  realize 
unity  through  diversity,  the  foreordained  tragedy 
inevitable  when  one  individual  strives  to  attain  su- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  69 

premacy  through  the  frenzied  effort  to  shatter  the 
integrity  of  another's  character.  Strlndberg  has  not 
read  his  Darwin  in  vain  —  painting  In  garish  colors 
the  blind,  relentless  warfare  of  existence,  waged 
upon  the  individual  by  the  Immitigable  conditions  of 
environment.  Nor  does  the  clue  to  life's  hopeless- 
ness elude  us  ever  —  the  pitiless  monotony,  the  re- 
currence and  repetition,  of  spiritual  and  mental  ex- 
perience In  the  face  of  all  the  chances  and  changes 
of  this  mortal  life.  There  Is  no  escape  from  the 
cyclic  rhythm  of  life  —  as  the  Captain  says:  *'  Wipe 
out  —  and  pass  on."  Marvellous,  tragic  Image  — 
wrought  of  the  Incoherence  and  pitiless  sameness  of 
experience  —  Inconclusive,  as  life  Is  Inconclusive, 
without  enduring,  unshaken  faith. 

IX 

There  is  one  phase  of  Strlndberg's  monumental 
activity  beyond  the  scope  of  the  present  inquiry  — 
the  field  of  national,  historical  drama.  Time  will 
show  whether  the  vitality  of  Strlndberg's  characters 
will  energize  works  dealing  with  remote,  wellnigh 
forgotten  periods  of  Swedish  history.  Certain  it 
is  that  these  plays  are  wonderful,  not  as  re-creations 
of  historical  figures  and  epochs,  but  as  verisimilar, 
life-like  denotements  of  forceful  character  In  epochal 
situations.  Individual  and  national.  In  every  domain 
of  art,  Strlndberg  has  always  succeeded  In  project- 


70  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS  ^ 

Ing  tremendously  vital  characters  —  tensely  alive, 
subtly  neuropathic,  strenuous  in  mental  and  spiritual 
cerebration. 

Nor  can  it  profit  us  here  to  study  the  mystic  wan- 
derings and  desert  pilgrimages  of  that  most  pro- 
foundly philosophic  work,  most  confusing  medley 
of  allegory,  parable,  autobiography,  confession  and 
self-exculpation,  the  trilogy  To  Damascus,  Such  a 
work  defies  even  the  genius  of  a  Reinhardt  in  pro- 
duction—  blurring  the  vision  of  the  "average 
spectator "  with  its  kinetoscopic  heterogeneity  of 
spiritual  films.  Yet  from  it,  colossal  In  its  incom- 
mensurability, we  learn  perhaps  best  of  all  the  inner 
meaning  of  Strindberg's  nature  and  soul. 

Strindberg  is  the  supreme  universalist  of  our 
modern  era.  With  all  the  virile  force  of  his  per- 
sonality, the  richness  of  his  temperament  as  artist, 
Strindberg  is  in  essence  an  analyst,  a  research- 
worker  in  the  domain  of  the  human  spirit.  In 
doubt,  in  the  questioning,  I  had  almost  said  the 
querulous,  attitude  towards  life  and  the  universe, 
Strindberg  found  the  real  clue  to  spiritual  progress. 
Beginning  as  an  individualist,  with  that  supreme 
arrogance  which  he  described  as  the  last  trace  of 
Man's  Godlike  origin,  Strindberg  felt  for  a  time 
the  Socialist  call  of  the  era  —  only  to  lapse  again 
into  a  more  arrant  and  confirmed  individualism,  in 
his  effort  to  realize  the  superhuman  ideals  of  an  age 
which  produced  a  Nietzsche  and  a  Blake.     A  con- 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG  71 

firmed  sceptic,  he  frankly  accepted  the  doctrine  of 
the  relativity  of  truth,  and 'sought  through  experi- 
mentation and  self-examination  those  spiritual  real- 
ties which  engender  freedom  of  spirit  and  en- 
franchisement of  soul.  Ego-centric,  jaundiced, 
moody,  full  of  torturing  discontent,  he  finally  paid 
the  penalty  in  the  paranoia  of  that  terrible  five- 
year  interval,  obsessed  with  the  chimera  of  exag- 
gerated egoism,  the  delusion  of  referential  ideas. 
In  his  search  for  the  realities  of  the  spiritual  life, 
he  achieved  the  miracle  of  resignation  and  acceptance 
—  abandoning  the  search  for  happiness  and  seeking 
only  the  strength  to  endure  his  fate.  Overmastered 
by  his  dominant  weakness,  which  he  described  as 
**  sensitiveness  to  pressure,"  he  turned  frantically, 
now  this  way,  now  that,  in  the  blind  effort  to  achieve 
moral  certitude;  but  finally  he  came  to  rest,  or  at 
least  resignation,  in  the  consciousness  that  life  is  a 
complex  of  interaction,  and  that  the  individual, 
as  part  of  the  universe,  has  no  inalienable 
personal  "  rights ''  to  pleasure  and  happiness.- 
His  life-work  Is  essentially  moral  in  its  nature; 
his  nature  was  essentially  Christian.  However 
splenetic  and  arrogant  his  mood,  however  jaundiced 
and  macabre  his  tone,  we  nevertheless  recognize  in 
him  a  supreme  artist,  whose  ideal  was  cultural  de- 
velopment; a  moral  force  In  the  universe,  seeking 
the  ultimate  redemption  of  the  human  soul.  Re- 
actionary, primitive  in  his  attitude  towards  woman, 


72 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


at  one  period  in  his  career  painting  woman  as  fiend 
in  human  form,  he  was  none  the  less  Imbued  with  a 
love  for  his  mother  bordering  on  reverence,  a  senti- 
ment of  deep  tenderness  for  his  children.  An  ideal- 
Ust  however  misguided,  it  was  his  tragic  fate  never 
to  realize  or  even  to  comprehend  that  the  clue  to 
human  happiness  is  not  strife,  struggle,  doubt  and 
denial,  but  gently  humorous  acceptance  of  personal 
limitations  and  human  frailties.  Perhaps  a  vision 
came  in  the  end;  for  on  his  deathbed,  he  said: 
"  Now,  everything  personal  Is  blotted  out.''  Strok- 
ing his  daughter's  hand,  he  whispered,  "  Dear,  dear 
Greta !  "  The  Bible  which  he  asked  for  being 
placed  In  his  hand,  he  murmured:  "Now  I  have 
finished  with  the  book  of  this  world!"  His  last 
words  —  the  ultimate  confession  of  the  catholic 
Christian  spirit  —  as  he  pressed  the  Bible  to  his 
heart,  were :  "  Here  is  to  be  found  the  only  true  ex- 
pression." 


\ 


HENRIK  IBSEN 


''/«  reality  my  development  is  thoroughly  con- 
secutive, I  myself  can  indicate  the  various  threads 
in  the  whole  course  of  my  development,  the  unity  of 
my  ideas,  and  their  gradual  evolution  and  I  .  ,  , 
shall  prove  to  the  world  that  I  am  the  same  person 
to-day  that  I  was  on  the  day  I  first  found  myself/* 
Henrik  Ibsen  to  Lorentz  Dietrichson. 


I 


HENRIK  IBSEN 
The  Evolution  of  His  Mind  and  Art 


From  the  standpoint  of  present-day  America,  with 
its  gospel  of  the  strenuous  life,  its  tendency  to  hero- 
worship  with  the  masterful  captain  of  industry  for 
hero,  its  Roosevelts  and  its  Pearys,  Henrik  Ibsen 
may  be  said  to  have  lived  a  singularly  uneventful, 
marvellously  secluded  life.  His  future  biographer 
—  for  no  one  has  yet  succeeded,  or  even  made  a 
legitimate  attempt  to  succeed,  in  mirroring  the  fea- 
tures of  this  placid  exterior  life  of  crowded  Inner 
tumultuousness  —  must  match  Ibsen  himself  In  pa- 
tience, detachment  and  single-mlndedness.  Until 
now,  it  may  fairly  be  said  that  the  literature  con- 
cerned with  the  life  and  art  of  Henrik  Ibsen  deals 
almost  solely  with  a  traditionary  figure.  This  leg- 
endary being  is  a  little  crabbed  old  man,  taciturn, 
uncommunicative,  even  bearish,  who  occasionally 
broke  the  silence  only  to  advance  his  own  interests, 
to  lash  out  with  envenomed  rage  at  his  enemies,  or 
else  to  affront  gratuitously  the  friends  and  admirers 
who  sought  to  do  him  public  honor.     Now  that  we 

75 


\ 


76  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

are  left  alone  with  memories  —  and  reminiscences 
both  kindly  and  malicious, —  the  spiritual  lineaments 
of  the  Norwegian  seer  tend  to  define  themselves  to 
vision.  For  the  first  time,  In  the  light  of  the  reminis- 
cences of  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  is  It  becom- 
ing possible  to  discover  the  man  in  his  works,  and 
to  trace  some  of  the  many  vital  threads  in  the  close- 
meshed  fabric  of  his  art.  In  the  light,  too,  of  his 
literary  remains  —  piously  collected  and  astutely 
edited  by  Koht  and  Ellas  —  one  may  at  last  follow 
his  work  consistently  from  first  to  last  in  a  chain  of 
unbroken  sequence,  and  test  the  validity  of  Ibsen's 
claim  that  his  development  as  artist  is  consistent,  uni- 
form, evolutional.  Heretofore,  the  salient  details 
of  Ibsen's  exterior  life  have  been  recorded  with 
mediate  accuracy;  and  numerous  efforts,  brilliant, 
mediocre,  futile,  have  been  made  towards  achieving 
the  biography  of  Ibsen's  mind.  The  great  work 
which  yet  remains  to  be  done  is  to  relate  the  man 
to  his  work,  to  discover  the  real  human  being  who 
lurks  behind  the  cartoons  of  Vallotton,  Laerum  and 
Scotson-Clark,  the  real  human  heart  beating  beneath 
the  formidable  frock-coat  of  the  "  little  buttoned-up 


man." 


II 


America  has  been  prolific  In  studies  which  betray 
crass  unfamiliarity  with  the  surroundings  from  which 
Ibsen  sprang,  as  well  as  imperfect  comprehension 


HENRIK  IBSEN  77 

of  the  streams  of  European  thought  which  pro- 
foundly affected  his  spiritual  development.  The 
real  contributions  to  the  knowledge  of  Ibsen  on  the 
part  of  American  scholars  and  critics  have  been 
concerned,  in  the  main,  with  Ibsen's  technical  ability 
and  with  those  inalienable  qualities  of  his  art  which 
Tiave  rendered  him,  as  a  dramatist,  unique  and  dis-, 
tinctive.  To  Ibsen,  the  countries  which  have  shown 
most  profound  regard  for  his  significance  gave  a 
defining  title  and  character :  Norway  thought  of  him 
first  as  a  conservative  and  later  as  a  radical;  Ger- 
many was  widely  divided  between  those  who  classed 
him,  respectively,  as  naturalist,  individualist,  and 
socialist;  and  France  abhorred  his  anarchy  while  cele- 
brating his  symbolism..  Despite  the  admirable  and 
scholarly  work  of  Archer,  Gosse,  Herford,  Wick- 
steed  and  others,  the  brilliant  polemics  of  Bernard 
Shaw,  the  elevated  but  sporadic  performances  of 
Janet  Achurch,  Elizabeth  Robins,  and  other  ex- 
emplars of  the  modern  school  of  acting,  and  lastly 
the  dignified  work  of  the  societies  for  the  promotion 
of  the  modern  drama,  Ibsen  has  never  laid  the 
"  great  public  "  in  England  under  his  spell  nor  as- 
sumed. In  the  eyes  of  the  reading-.public,  the  dignity 
of  a  classic. 

There  are  many  and  cogent  reasons  why  America 
has  never  profited  by  the  lessons  Ibsen  presented  §0 
unmistakably  to  his  own  and  to  future  generations. 
As  Individualist,  Ibsen  could  hope  to  create  no  up- 


78 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


roar  in  a  country  which  surpasses  the  countries  of " 
the  Ibsen  social  dramas  in  the  production  of  self- 
assertive  individualists.  In  America  there  was  — ' 
and  is  —  no  school  of  acting,  classic  in  finish,  classic 
In  tradition,  to  interpret  the  complex  harmonies  of  ^ 
the  Ibsenian  dramas.  The  New  Theatre  proved 
a  failure.  Mansfield's  production  of  Peer  Gynt 
was  a  half-hearted  concession  to  what  he  regarded 
as  a  popular  craze  for  the  bizarre  and  the  ab- 
normal; and  the  brilliant  performances  of  Mrs. 
Fiske  as  Hedda  Gabler  and  of  Miss  Mary  Shaw 
as  Mrs.  Alvlng,  to  mention  the  most  notable  achieve- 
ments, reeked  too  strongly  of  the  unhealthy  and  the 
distorted  to  conquer  permanently  the  prejudices  of 
American  audiences  which  are  nightly  flattered  with 
the  display  of  brilliant  costumes,  beautiful  but  In- 
competent "  stars,"  and  heroic-looking,  but  wooden, 
"  matinee  Idols  "  for  their  delectation.  Nazlmova 
demonstrated  that  there  was  an  audience  in  America 
that  really  relished  Ibsen;  and  the  lists  of  the  most 
popular  books  at  public  libraries  In  America  contain 
the  plays  of  Ibsen  as  a  stock  number. 

In  two  notable  respects,  Ibsen  should  mean  much 
for  the  present  and  for  the  future  of  American  dra- 
matic art.  No  fear  of  misunderstanding  prevents 
the  statement  that  Ibsen  was  the  first  and  greatestl 
of  the  literary  muck-rakers  of  modern  drama| 
From  the  turbulent  squabbles  of  Norway  as  well  as 
from  the   social   ferment  of  Europe,   Ibsen  drew 


HENRIK  IBSEN  79 

trenchant  and  immediate  lessons  from  public  con-  » 
duct  as  well  as  from  personal  morals.  The  Plim-  1 
soil  agitation  in  England  for  proper  laws  regulating  \\ 
the  insurance  of  unseaworthy  vessels,  reflected  in  the  \ 
press  of  Norway,  was  at  the  back  of  The  Pillars  0/  * 
Society;  and  Thaulow's  public  propaganda  against 
a  local  society  which  he  deemed  fraudulent  eventu- 
ated in  the  fight  of  Dr.  Stockmann  for  the  purifica- 
tion of  the  baths  of  his  native  town.  John  Gabriel 
Borkman  is  rooted  in  the  reality  of  the  daily  life 
of  Norway;  and  The  League  of  Youth  fell  afoul 
of  Bjomson  and  his  coterie.  It  may  be  thought  that 
Ibsen  as  champion  of  individnaLemancipation  came 
too  late  for  a  country  whose  greatest  boasts  are  its 
freedom  and  its  scope  for  the  free  play  of  indi- 
viduality. And  yet,  there  are  people  so  critically 
censorious  as  to  maintain  that  there  is  no  real  free- 
dom in  America;  and  that  we  are  bound  hard  and 
fast  by  the  puritanical  formulas  of  a  provincial 
civilization.  Freedom  of  thought  in  America  hasj 
in  no  sense  kept  pace  with  license  of  conduct;  and  al 
country  which  cannot  suppress  night-riding,  lynching 
and  mob-violence  should  not  throw  stones  at  Gorki, 
Zola  or  Mrs,  Warren* s  Profession,  America,  with 
its  Morses  and  its  Walshes,  need  seek  no  further  for 
wounded  titans  of  finance  like  Borkman;  and  the 
Slocum  disaster  dwarfs  the  Indian  Girl  of  The  Pil- 
lars of  Society  into  trivial  insignificance.  In  Dr. 
Charles  W.  Stiles  America  can  point  to  a  Dr.  Stock- 


8o  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

mann  with  a  nation,  rather  than  a  minor  watering- 
place,  for  the  field  of  his  inquiry.  The  most  sig- 
nificant lesson  of  modern  democracy  In  America, 
learned  not  from  Ibsen  but  from  the  dire  example 
of  the  American  Sugar  Company,  and  a  thousand 
other  scandals,  is  that,  In  its  fullest  significance,  eter- 
nal vigilance  Is  the  price  of  liberty.  The  literature 
of  exposure  Is  never  mal  a  propos  In  a  civilization 
whose  protection  rests  upon  perpetual  publicity. 

The  buoyant  youth  of  America,  impressing  alike 
a  Van  Eeden  and  a  Ferrero,  Is  both  Its  strength 
and  its  weakness.  It  bespeaks  at  once  America's 
Inexperience  In  self-control  and  her  optimism  of 
outlook.  America  can  furnish  towns  as  provincial 
In  tone  as  ever  won  the  amused  contempt  of  Euro- 
pean audiences  at  the  performance  of  Ibsen's  plays 
of  Norwegian  life;  and  her  political  life  furnishes 
types  of  half-baked  political  leaders  no  less  con- 
temptible and  inexperienced  than  Stensgaard  and  his 
young  men's  league.  But  America  is  young  and 
hopeful,  at  least;  it  is  not  peopled,  we  are  confi- 
dently assured,  with  soul-sick  tragedies  mouthing 
their  futile  protests  against  the  Iron  vice  of  environ- 
ment, the  Ineradicable  scar  of  heredity,  the  fell 
clutch  of  circumstance.  Ibsen's  pathological  preoc- 
cupations should  have  no  meaning  for  America  — 
his  dalliance  with  sick  consciences,  obsessed  person- 
alities, wounded  souls,  disillusioned  fatalists.  But 
America  should  take  to  heart  Ibsen's  bold  challenge 


HENRIK  IBSEN  8i. 

for  Individual  freedom,  his  insistence  upon  moral  ^ 
duties,  his  concern  for  marriage  founded  upon  equita- ''' 
ble  relations  between  husband  and  wife,/ his  claim 
of  the  IndivIduaFs  right  to  develop  fully  and  without 
trammel,  and  lastly,  his  faith  that  human  love  and 
the  happiness  that  it  secures  for  the  Individual 
transcend  all  the  glories  of  the  palace  of  art, —  all 
the  victories  that  vaulting  ambition  can  achieve. 
All  that  Is  needed  for  a  real  appreciation  of  Ibsen 
in  America  is  a  re-application  of  these  inspiring 
lessons  to  our  youthful,  buoyant,  optimistic  yet  in- 
choate society. 

As  man,  as  social  thinker,  Ibsen  has  for  America 
these  distinct  and  salutary  lessons.  As  artist  and 
craftsman,  his  message  is  no  less  signal  and  impera- 
tive. Ibsen's  technique  is  one  of  the  supreme  glories 
of  his  art;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that,  in 
certain  plays,  the  technique  displayed  is  inextricably, 
bound  up  with  the  dramatic  genius  which  devised  it.! 
But  no  would-be  dramatist  of  modern  life  to-day,  in 
its  limited  environment  and  in  its  circumscribed 
sphere,  can  afford  to  neglect  the  study  of  the  tech- 
nique of  Henrik  Ibsen.  In  order  to  mirror  the  real  i 
life  of  to-day  In  perfect  naturalness,  the  dramatist 
must  realize  the  evolutional  trend  of  the  drama  and 
study  carefully  the  models  set  by  Ibsen  for  our  day 
and  generation.  Thus  will  he  be  the  better  enabled 
to  realize  Ibsen's  Ideal:  ''  to  produce  the  impression 
on  the  reader  that  what  he  was  reading  was  some- 


-^ 


82  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

thing  that  had  really  happened/'  The  great  secret 
to  be  learned  from  a  study  of  Ibsen's  craftsmanship 
is  the  way  he  bridges  over  the  gap  between  art  and 
life  by  identifying  the  action  and  the  exposition.  As 
ernard  Shaw  admirably  expressed  it:  "What  we 
might  have  learned  from  Ibsen  was  that  our  fash- 
ionable dramatic  material  was  worn  out  as  far  as 
cultivated  modern  people  are  concerned;  that  what 
really  interests  such  people  on  the  stage  is  not  what 
we  call  action  —  meaning  two  well-known  and  rather 
short-sighted  actors  pretending  to  fight  a  duel  with- 
V  out  their  glasses,  or  a  handsome  leading  man  chas- 
ing a  beauteous  leading  lady  round  the  stage  with 
threats,  obviously  not  feasible,  of  immediate  rapine 
—  but  stories  of  lives,  discussion  of  conduct,  unveil- 
ing of  motives,  conflict  of  characters  in  talk,  laying 
bare  of  souls,  discovery  of  pitfalls  —  in  short,  illu- 
mination of  life.  .  .  ." 

Ill 

It  has  often  been  said  that  the  drama  can  never  be 
the  same  again,  now  that  Ibsen  has  lived  and  writ- 
ten. It  may  be  said  with  even  greater  truth  that 
the  world  can  never  be  the  same  again,  since  Ibsen 
has  lived  and  written.  The  spirit  of  modern  times, 
the  form  and  pressure  of  the  age,  the  most  fruitful 
germs  of  modern  culture  are  embodied  in  the  dramas 
of  Ibsen.  It  should  be  the  purpose  of  the  drama  to 
crystallize  and  body  forth   ideals   for  the  human 


I 


HENRIK  IBSEN  83 

race,  and  thus  to  inform  reality  with  the  ideal.  For 
the  age  of  Shakspere,  the  ideal  of  art  was  "  to  hold, 
as  'twere,  the  mirror  up  to  nature ;  to  show  virtue ; 
her  own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and  the 
very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and  pres-i 
sure.'*  The  nineteenth  century  brought  forth  a  man 
who  boldly  declared  that  we  are  no  longer  living  in 
the  time  of  Shakspere.  He  clearly  realized  that  the 
artist's  attitude  toward  life  must  be  redemptive  as , 
well  as  revelative.  Every  man  shares  the  reponsi-l 
bility  and  the  guilt  of  the  society  to  which  he  be- 
longs. The  function  of  contemporary  art,  of  dra-j' 
matic  art  par  excellence,  is  something  higher  thanJ 
mere  reflection.  It  is  not  enough  merely  to  catch 
the  surface  sheen  of  life.  Modern  art  concerns  it- 
self, must  concern  itself,  with  penetrative  interpreta- 
tion.  The  drama  is  not  only  a  mirror  to  reflect  the 
surface  of  things,  but  also  a  Rontgen  ray  to  pene- 
trate the  surface  and  reveal,  beneath  the  outer  in- 
tegument, the  fundamental  frame-work  and  struc- 
ture of  modern  life.  The  great  dramatists  are  the 
brief  and  abstract  chronometers  of  the  time.  "  It  is; 
surely  the  great  use  of  modern  drama,"  says  Pinero, 
"  that  while  in  its  day  it  provides  a  rational  entertain- 
ment, in  the  future  it  may  serve  as  a  history  of  the 
hour  which  gives  it  birth.*'  This  is  perhaps  the 
least  service  rendered  by  the  drama :  to  serve  as  an 
historical  record  of  the  age.  Many  realistic  critics 
maintain  that  the  only  works  of  art  worth  consider- 


84  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Ing  as  historical  are  not  those  written  in  one  epoch 
to  give  a  view  of  the  life  or  the  events  of  some 
earlier  epoch,  but  those  which  deal  with  the  life  of 
the  time  at  which  they  are  written,  and  have  grown 
truly  historical  through  the  lapse  of  years.  Ibsen's 
supremacy  springs,  not  from  his  so-called  historical 
dramas,  of  the  type  which  Maeterlinck  defines  as 
**  artificial  poems  that  arise  from  the  impossible  mar-v 
riage  of  past  and  present,"  but  from  his  real  histor- 
ical dramas  —  his  personal  and  social  dramas  of  con- 
temporary life. 

All  great  minds,  in  contemplating  the  riddle  of 
the  human  chimera  and  the  disquieting  mystery  of 
life,  must  have  realized,  with  Leibniz,  that  "  every 
present  is  laden  with  the  past  and  big  with  the 
future."  A  world-dramatist  like  Ibsen  is  the  child 
of  the  past,  the  cornpanion  of  the  present,  the  pro- 
genitor of  the  future  —  trinitvjpdlssnlnhlp.  That 
he  is  the  heir  of  the  ages  but  increases  his  obligation 
to  body  forth  with  convincing  truth  the  age  in  which 
he  lives.  Goethe  maintained  that,  in  order  to  know 
the  man,  it  is  necessary  to  know  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  To  no  time  in  the  world's  history  is  this 
truth  so  apposite  as  to  the  present.  The  feeling  of 
cosmic  unity  and  the  sentiment  of  social  solidarity 
have  so  penetrated  and  informed  the  thought  of 
to-day  that  no  one  questions  the  statement,  as  ap- 
plied to  the  dominant  personality,  that  the  age  helps 
to  create  the  man  and  the  man  helps  to  create  the 


HENRIK  IBSEN  85 

age.     Every  epoch-making  mind,  it  has  been  said,  is    \  i 
at  the  same  time  child  and  father,  disciple  and  mas-     ^ 
ter,  of  his  age.     The  more  fully  he  surrenders  him-     j 
self  to  it,    the  more  fully  will  he  control  it.     "  Our     I 
pride  and  sense  of  human  independence  rebel  against 
the  belief  that  men  of  genius  obey  a  movement  quite 
as  much  as  they  control  it,  and  even  more  than  they 
create  it,"  says  John  Addington  Symonds.     "  We 
gain  a  new  sense  of  the  vitality  and  spiritual  soli- 
darity of  human  thought.     At  first  sight  the  individ- 
ual lessens;  but  the  race,  the  mass  from  which  the 
individual  emerges  and  of  which  he  becomes  the 
spokesman    and   interpreter,    gains   In   dignity   and 
greatness.     Shakspere   is   not  less   than  he   Is,   be- 
cause we  know  him  as  necessary  to  a  series.     His 
eminence  remains  his  own." 

In  this  light,  the  masterpieces  of  modern  drama, 
appear,  not  as  detached  monuments  of  literary  art, 
butjis  symbols  of  a  growing  world-spirit.  We  seel  c.or^i:>/ 
In  the  evolution  of  the  individual  the  evolution  ofli'^^^  ^ 
the  race,  In  the  regeneration  of  the  individual  the  ■  ^^^^ 
regeneration  of  society.  The  study  of  the  Interfji^ccAr 
preter  of  life  to-day  resolves  itself  Into  a  study  oe  ^'^^< 
the  vital  phases  of  the  struggle  that  is  going  on  in' 
humanity  to-day. 


IV 

We  are  living  to-day  in  an  age  of  transition  —  the 
transition  between  criticism  and  faith.     The  nine- 


% 


S6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tcenth  century  was  called  the  age  of  perhaps  the 
greatest  doubt  and  the  greatest  faith  the  world  has 
ever  known.  Science,  with  its  transforming  theories, 
its  destructive  and  far-reaching  criticism,  swept  the 
world  with  the  force  of  an  avalanche.  The  world 
has  had  to  be  reconstituted.  The  new  world  is  just 
now  beginning  to  emerge,  like  the  phoenix,  from  the 
ashes  of  the  old.  The  laboratory  method,  the  dis-  \ 
secting  fever,  the  analytic  spirit  have  permeated  and 
given  new  form  to  every  department  of  human  life. 
Nothing  was  accepted  as  fact  until  placed  under  the 
microscope,  or  perhaps  subjected  to  the  bombard- 
ment of  X-rays,  or  analyzed  in  a  retort.  So,  to-day, 
we  have  a  new  psychology,  a  new  art,  a  new  medi- 
cine, a  new  sociology,  a  new  religion.  Everywhere 
modification  and  alteration,  redistribution  and  re 
adjustment. 

The  world  demands  the  Truth  to-day,  for  it  has 
scientifically  demonstrated  the  Biblical  theorem  that 
the  truth  shall  make  you  free. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  conception  of  cosmic 
unity,  tracing  its  origin  to  Auguste  Comte  and  per- 
meating all  modern  thought,  society  has  grown  to 
symbolize  a  vast  wave  which  carries  along  the  in- 
dividual with  it.  The  laws  of  its  motion  are  fixed: 
if  the  individual  resists,  he  is  submerged.  The  In- 
dividual is  but  a  tiny  atom  tossed  upon  the  surface 
of  this  turbulent  wave.  Government  In  many  cases 
appears  to  mean  the  stifling  of  the  wise  and  enllght- 


4 


HENRIK  IBSEN  87 

ened  few  by  the  will  of  the  ignorant  and  thoughtless 
many. 

The  social  compact  often  robs  the  individual  of 
freedom. 

From  the  standpoint  of  evolution,  the  individual 
is  at  war  with  his  fellows.  The  long  line  of  sci- 
entists, from  Lamarck  to  Spencer,  from  Huxley  to 
Haeckel,  from  Darwin  to  De  Vries  have  held  their 
solemn  clinics  and  registered  their  stern  verdict. 
The  theories  of  unlimited  competition,  of  the  in- 
variability of  species,  of  the  mutability  of  organic 
forms,  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  (or  is  it,  perhaps, 
the  survival  of  the  most  unscrupulous?)  are  pro- 
nounced by  the  vast  majority  to  be  laws  as  sure,  in- 
evitable and  relentless  as  the  facts  of  life  and  death. 
The  struggle  for  existence  is  the  stern  reality  the 
individual  cannot  shirk.  This  struggle  is  sharpened 
in  direct  proportion  to  the  increase  in  the  cost  of  the 
staple  commodities  of  life.  Competition  becomes  so 
fierce  as  to  amount,  in  many  cases,  to  oppression, 
elimination,  destruction. 

In  certain  lights,  life  takes  on  the  guise  of  a  brutal 
fight. 

From  the  side  of  modern  medicine  and  modern 
biology,  a  more  sinister  spectre  robs  the  world  of 
peaceful  sleep.  The  scientist,  the  surgeon,  the  phy- 
sician play  the  leading  roles  in  the  drama  of  our  life. 
Nerve  strain,  neurasthenia,  mental  collapse,  physical 
ills  of  every  sort  beset  and  menace  on  all  sides  a 


88  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

world  which  has  already  passed  the  first  flush  of 
youth.     The  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father  Is  a  less  terri- 
fying apparition  than  the  spectres  of  our  own  brain. 
All  men  are  not  born  free  and  equal  —  not  even 
those  born  in  the  same  rank  of  society.     Do  what  we 
will,   we  cannot  escape  the   influence   of  the  past. 
Heredity  lays  its  skeleton  hand  upon  us  and  we  enter 
the  struggle  for  existence  with  the  ineradicable  taint 
of  hereditary  weakness  or  degeneracy  gnawing  like 
a  vulture  at  our  very  vitals. 
*<r^/*l«D       ^^^   ^^^^   ^^  ^^^    fathers   are   visited  upon   the 
v^raTH£;ft:  children   even  unto   the   third   and   fourth   genera- 
"~'  o       tlon. 

The  modern  theories  of  spiritualism,  thought- 
transference  and  hypnotic  suggestion  fill  our  souls 
with  awe  and  disquiet,  and  tend  to  depress  our 
sense  of  human  vitality.  Such  scientists  as  Myers, 
Hyslop,  Lombroso,  Lodge  and  a  score  of  others, 
working  both  independently  and  through  reputable 
societies  for  psychical  research,  are  making  slow,  but 
persistent  efforts  to  fret  away  the  thin  veil  —  if  such 
there  be !  —  between  matter  and  spirit.  In  the 
minds  of  many,  there  remains  little  room  for  doubt, 
not  simply  of  the  control  of  mind  over  matter,  but  of 
the  control  of  mind  over  mind,  of  spirit  over  spirit. 
The  dominant  will  comes  into  the  sphere  of  our 
life,  exerts  upon  us  its  occult  influence,  and  our 
weaker  will  succumbs. 

Humanity  is  the  dynamo  of  potential  forces  which 


I 


HENRIK  IBSEN  89 

we  cannot  fathom.  Hypnotism  is  the  thief  of  in- 
dividuality. 

Ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  world  until  the 
last  century,  two  different  standards  of  conduct  pre- 
vailed for  men  and  women.  For  the  two  sexes  there 
obtained  two  different  sets  of  laws,  two  different 
codes  of  ethics,  two  different  philosophies  of  life. 
Ever  since  Mary  Wollstonecraft  awoke  the  world 
with  her  Vindication  of  the  Rights  of  Woman; 
ever  since  John  Stuart  Mill  animadverted  against 
the  subjection  of  woman;  ever  since  Henrik  Ibsen 
declared  in  burning  words  that  in  the  Workers  and 
the  Women  he  placed  all  his  hopes  for  the  future, 
and  that  for  them  he  would  work  with  all  his 
strength  —  this  age  has  won  the  right  to  the  title : 
the  age  of  Woman's  Emancipation.  Through  the 
slow  but  titanic  pressure  of  the  feminist  movement, 
woman  is  at  last  beginning  to  gain  the  freedom  — 
economic,  intellectual,  moral,  and  even  political !  — 
which  has  so  long  been  denied  her.  The  true  rela- 
tion between  man  and  woman  as  co-ordinate  factors 
in  human  progress  is  at  last  coming  to  light. 

The  emancipation  of  woman,  in  the  completest 
sense,  is  on  the  way. 

This  is  an  age  marked  by  unsettled  and  conflicting 
views  in  regard  to  standards  of  morality.  **  Social 
progress,"  it  has  been  said,  **  takes  effect  through  the 
replacement  of  old  institutions  by  new  ones;  and 
since  every  institution  involves  the  recognition  of  the 


ft»Tl 


90  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

duty  of  conforming  to  it,  progress  must  involve  the 
repudiation  of  an  established  duty  at  every  turn." 
The  world  has  had  its  eyes  opened  to  the  flaws  in 
our  rough-and-ready  morality  by  the  rhapsodic  in- 
vective of  Nietzsche,  the  mordant  irony  of  Ibsen,  p,,,m 
the  impassioned  zeal  of  Tolstoi,  the  enlightening  sat- 
ire of  Bernard  Shaw,  the  lightning  humor  of  Mark 
Twain.  Inequality  of  divorce  laws  in  the  different 
States  of  America,  for  example,  makes  a  man  who  is 
a  scoundrel  in  one  State  a  respectable  gentleman  in 
another.  Murders  under  the  specious  excuse  of  the 
"  unwritten  law  "  are  only  too  tragically  frequent. 
In  some  States,  children,  even  before  birth,  may  be 
willed  or  deeded  away  like  chattels.  The  funda- 
mental principles  of  right  and  wrong  —  whatever 
they  are,  no  one  seems  to  know  them !  —  are,  of 
course,  eternal;  but  the  conventional  code  of  conduct, 
the  "  morality  of  custom,"  as  Nietzsche  termed  it, 
cannot  with  justice  be  applied  invariably  and  unex- 
ceptionally. 

Conventional  morality  is  a  very  untrustworthy 
standard  for  distinguishing  between  right  and  wrong. 

The  great  discovery  of  modern  life  is  that  society, 
not  the  individual,  is  at  fault.  Democratic  govern- 
ment is  on  trial.  We  no  longer  boast,  with  Shak- 
spere,  of  Man:  noble  in  reason,  infinite  in  faculty, 
In  form  and  moving  express  and  admirable,  In  action 
like  an  angel,  in  apprehension  like  a  god,  for  we 
realize  the  sad  botch  he  has  made  of  the  actual  af- 


HENRIK  IBSEN  91 

fairs  of  life.     The  humanizing  influences  of  fraternal  \ 
sympathy,  of  social  pity  and  social  justice  must  re-  f 
place  the  more  personal  and  selfish  interests  of  the  [ 
individual.     Social  criticism  is  the   sign-manual   of  !      v 
the  age.     Redemption  for  the  individual  is  to  be  at-      / 
tained  through  a  recognition  of  the  intolerable  in- 
justices of  modern  society,  and  through  consistent  . 
efforts  at  remedial  and  constructive  measures  for  its 
reorganization.     "  There  still  remains  in  the  depths 
of  every  heart  of  loyal  intention,"  says  Maeterlinck, 
**  a  great  duty  of  charity  and  justice  that  eclipses  all 
others.     And  it  is  perhaps  from  the  struggle  of  this 
duty  against  our  egoism  and  ignorance  that  the  veri- 
table drama  of  our  century  shall  spring." 
"^The  sociologist,  the  social  reformer,  is  destined 
to  be  the  hero  of  the  future. 

With  science  as  the  active  and  dominant  spirit  of 
the  age,  to  whose  tests  all  questions  are  now-a-days 
subjected,  we  begin  to  gain  some  sort  of  perspective 
of  the  complex  character  of  contemporary  existence 
with  which  the  Interpreter  of  life  has  to  deal.  The 
Insistent  problems  of  the  social  complex,  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  individual  under  the  operation  of  the 
law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  the  sociological  doc- 
trine of  environment,  the  biological  theories  of 
heredity  and  temperament,  the  psychic  phenomena 
of  hypnotism  and  spiritualism,  the  great  gulf  fixed 
between  social  influence  and  social  Impotence,  the 
hideous  corruption  of  politics,  business  and  finance, 


92  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

the  increasing  unrest  and  discontent  of  the  laboring 
classes,  the  growing  artificiality  of  metropolitan  life, 
distrust  In  conventional  standards  of  morality,  par- 
tial and  imperfect  justice  meted  out  to  woman,  wide- 
spread dissatisfaction  with  the  grosser  Injustices  and 
Inequalities  of  society  and  its  organization,  and,  per- 
meating all,  the  relentless  criticism  of  science  and  so- 
ciology —  these  are,  in  sum,  the  momentous  prob- 
lems of  chiefest  significance  In  contemporary  life 
which  demand  adequate  treatment,  with  the  prospect 
of  eventual  solution,  at  the  hands  of  the  conscien- 
tious student  of  present-day  conditions. 

It  Is  through  his  masterful  exposition  and  treat- 
ment of  many  of  these  deep  and  ever-widening  prob- 
lems that  Henrik  Ibsen  has  attained  to  supreme  emi- 
nence and  authority  in  the  drama  of  our  time. 


No  extravagance  lurks  In  the  statement  that 
Henrik  Ibsen  is  the  greatest  Teutonic  dramatist 
since  Shakspere,  and  the  greatest  dramatist  of  any 
race  or  clime,  of  our  modern  era.  Not  until  he 
served  an  apprenticeship  of  decades  did  he  earn  the 
right  to  that  comprehensive  characterization.  It  be- 
came his  due  only  after  years  of  preparatory  pre- 
occupation with  the  legendary,  the  poetic,  the  his- 
torical, and  the  romantic.  Henrik  Johan  Ibsen  was 
born  on  March  28,  1828,  at  Sklen,  Norway.  Ibsen 
and  Bjornson  are  customarily  classed  together  as 


HENRIK  IBSEN  93 

the  great  Norwegian  geniuses;  and  Ibsen  has  long 
borne  the  title  of  the  Norwegian  Seer.     A  Scoto- 
Dano-Teuton  seems   a  more  fitting,   if  more   cum- 
brous,   characterization    for   this   so-called   Norwe- 
gian.    Genealogical    researches,    extending    as    far 
back   as    Ibsen's   great-great-grandparents,    indicate  | 
that  Ibsen  had  not  a  drop  of  Norwegian  blood  in  his  i 
veins.     The  three  strains  in  his  ancestry  are  Scotch,  I 
Danish  and  German.     It  is  perhaps  attaching  no  f 
undue  importance  to  hereditary  influence  to  attribute 
the  lyric  delicacy  and  sensitiveness  of  his  poetry  to 
the  Danish  element  in  his  blood,  his  uncompromising 
morality  and  high  ethical  standards  to  Scotch  influ- 
ence, and  his  passion  for  abstract  logic  to  the  three- 
fold German  strain. 

The  Stockmann  house  in  which  Ibsen  was  born 
faced  an  open  square,  on  one  side  of  which  stood  the 
town-pillory,  on  the  other  the  mad-house  and  the 
lock-up ;  while  the  Latin  school,  the  grammar  schools 
and  the  church  looked  on  as  if  in  protest.  It  was 
under  the  shadow  of  such  surroundings,  with  their 
oppressive  atmosphere  of  solemnity  and  gloom,  that 
the  first  years  of  Ibsen's  youth-  were  spent.  The  , 
Ibsen  family  was  prosperous,  moved  in  the  "  best  , 
circles,*'  and  were  inclined  to  the  lavish  in  their  hos- 
pitality. When  Henrik  was  eight  years  old,  financial 
disaster  overtook  the  family,  and  they  were  forced 
to  withdraw  to  a  small  farm  house  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  little  town,  where  they  lived  in  poverty  and 


94  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

retirement.  This  sudden  transition  from  affluence ; 
to  poverty  made  a  profound  Impression  upon  the/ 
eight-year-old  child.  Ibsen  afterwards  remarked 
that  those  who  had  taken  most  advantage  of  his 
parents'  hospitality  in  their  prosperous  days  were 
precisely  those  who  now  most  markedly  turned  to 
them  the  cold  shoulder.  Ibsen  never  quite  forgot 
the  lesson  thus  early  learned  of  the  shallowness  and 
insincerity  of  society.  This  was  doubtless  the  initial 
influence  in  bringing  to  pass  that  crushing  indict- 
;,  ment  of  modern  society  which  runs  through  all  his 
l!    middle  and  later  dramas. 

There  was  nothing  full-blooded  or  athletic  about 
the  youthful  Ibsen;  he  seems  to  have  cared  nothing 
for  outdoor  sports.  His  chief  distraction  came  from 
shutting  himself  away  in  a  private  little  room  of  his 
own,  and  poring  for  hours  over  musty  tomes,  rare 
prints,  old  engravings,  and  the  like.  According  to 
his  sister's  account,  the  only  outdoor  amusement  in 
which  he  Indulged  was  the  building  of  houses  —  of 
what  material  she  does  not  say.  As  a  boy,  he  loved 
to  play  the  part  of  magician,  to  mystify  his  elders, 
_.^  and  to  perform,  with  his  brother's  aid,  tricks  of 
i>jo  legerdemain.  It  Is  noteworthy  that  he  had  a  pas- 
sion for  cutting  out  fantastically  dressed  little  figures 
in  pasteboard,  attaching  them  to  wooden  blocks,  and 

< arranging  them  in  groups  or  tableaux.  It  requires 
little  imagination  to  see  the  dramatist  In  embryo  here 
—  the  play  of  the  constructive  faculty,  the  passion  for 


HENRIK  IBSEN  9j 

technical  sleight-of-hand,  the  fundamental  interest  in 
the  manipulation  of  fictitious  characters.  There  is 
strong  reason  to  believe  that  Ibsen  kept  up  this  early- 
child's  play  —  identifying  imaginary  characters  with 
little  material  models  —  throughout  his  entire  life. 

Considerable  talent  for  painting  showed  itself  in 
the  youthful  Ibsen;  and  like  Bernard  Shaw  after 
him,  he  had  an  ambition  to  be  a  great  painter.  But 
financial  exigency  forbade;  and  at  the  age  of  six- 
teen, Ibsen  was  apprenticed,  not  to  a  Norwegian 
Raphael  or  Danish  Titian,  but  —  to  an  apothecary. 
The  anarchist  in  Ibsen,  so  often  displayed  in  later 
years,  was  first  aroused  to  literary  expression  by 
the  Revolution  of  1848.  The  ferment  in  Europe, 
Ibsen  himself  confessed,  *'  had  a  strong  and  ripening 
effect  on  my  development,  immature  though  it  re- 
mained both  then  and  long  afterwards.  I  wrote 
clangorous  poems  of  encouragement  to  the  Magyars, 
adjuring  them,  for  the  sake  of  freedom  and  hu- 
manity, not  to  falter  in  their  righteous  war  against 
*  the  tyrant ' ;  and  I  composed  a  long  series  of  son- 
nets to  King  Oscar  —  urging  him  to  set  aside  all 
petty  considerations,  and  march  without  delay,  at 
the  head  of  his  army,  to  the  assistance  of  our  Danish 
brothers  on  the  Slesvig  frontier." 

In  the  meantime,  he  devoted  his  time  to  preparing 
for  his  matriculation  examination  at  Christiania  Uni- 
versity, where  he  purposed  studying  medicine.  By  a 
remarkable  chance,  the  subject  ji,ssigned  him  by  the 


96  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

University  for  examination  was  the  Consplraq^ 
Catiline,  to  be  studied  in  the  history  of  Sallust  and 
the  oration  of  Caesar.  Ibsen  relates  that  he  "  de- 
voured these  documents  greedily  ** ;  and  a  few  months 
later  his  first  drama,  Catiline,  was  finished.  Thg 
opening  lines  of  this  play  might  serve  as  the 
prophecy  of  Ibsen's  whole  life  work:' 


/' 


I  must,  I  must;  a  voice  is  crying  to  me 
From  my  Soul's  depths,  and  I  will  follow  it.' 


This  youth,  so  '*  spectral  "  as  his  companions  called 
him,  going  about  like  an  enigma  sealed  with  seven 
seals,  found  a  most  congenial  subject  in  the  story  of 
Catiline.  For  Ibsen  felt  himself  at  odds  with,  the 
community  in  which  he  lived,  and  was  fired  to  do 
something  bold  and  daring.  This  play  contained  in 
vague  outlines  many  of  the  features  Identified  with 
his  later  work:  "  the  opposition  between  power  and 
enterprise,  between  will  and  potentiality,  glike  the 
tragedy  and  the  comedy  of  humanity."  His  future 
methods  are  prevlsaged  here  in  his  employment  of 
his  own  Individual  technique  —  a  dark  and  ancient 
secret  inaugurates  the  action  and  causes  the  catastro- 
phe ;  while  two  women,  the  one  all  passion,  the  other 
all  gentleness,  struggle  for  the  love  of  the  hero. 
Sallust  may  have  influenced  Ibsen  far  more  than  did 
Caesar,  as  Mr.  Gosse  suggests;  but  behind  all,  lurk 
the  Influences  of  the  most  Important  prose-writer  of 
Norwegian  romanticism,  Mauritz  Hansen,  and  of 


HENRIK  IBSEN  97 

the  distinguished  poet  and  dramatist,  Henrik  Wer- 
geland.  The  edition  of  Catiline  with  the  exception 
of  thirty  copies  which,  strangely  enough,  found  pur- 
chasers, was  disposed  of  as  waste  paper  to  a  huck- 
ster. "  For  the  next  few  days,"  Ibsen  laconically  re- 
marks, "  we  (his  room-mate  Schulrud,  who  pub- 
lished Catiline  at  his  own  expense,  and  himself) 
lacked  none  of  the  first  necessities  of  life !  " 

The  little  one-act  drama,  The  Warrior*s  Tomb, 
which  Ibsen  brought  with  him  in  an  unfinished  state 
from  Bergen,  was  finally  completed  and  accepted  by 
the  Chrlstiania  Theatre.  Though  little  financial  aid 
came  from  the  three  productions  given  at  Chrls- 
tiania, Ibsen  was  greatly  encouraged  by  the  accept- 
ance of  the  play.  This  trivial  play,  with  Its  exterior 
comparisons  between  the  South  and  the  North,  is 
noteworthy  solely  for  Its  traces  of  Oehlenschlager's 
influence;  If  It  were  the  sole  extant  fragment  of 
Ibsen's  work,  he  would  never  have  been  heard  of. 
Its  closing  lines: 

"  Dem  Grab  ensteigt  dann  Nordland  hell  und  hehr : 
Zur  Geistesthat  auf  des  Gedankens  Meer ! " 

foreshadow  his  youthful  confidence  In  his  own  fu- 
ture. His  poverty  was  extreme ;  had  It  not  been  for 
his  exceptionally  strong  constitution,  his  health  must 
inevitably  have  suffered.  One  of  his  acquaintances 
at  this  time  recently  wrote  that  "  when  Ibsen's  finan- 
cial condition  compelled  him  to  practice  the  most 


98  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

stringent  economy,  he  tried  to  do  without  under- 
clothing, and  finally  even  without  stockings.  In 
these  experiments  he  succeeded;  and  in  winter  he 
went  without  an  overcoat ;  yet  without  being  troubled 
by  colds  or  other  bodily  ills." 

In  preparing  for  the  University,  Ibsen  met  Bjorn- 
son,  who  described  him  at  this  time  in  the  words  (no 
wonder  I)  : 

"  languid  and  lean,  with  a  complexion  like  gypsum, 
Behind  an  immense  coal-black  beard  —  Henrik  Ibsen." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  that  long  acquaintance 
between  the  two  great  geniuses,  blighted  for  a  time 
rather  by  the  misunderstandings  of  partisans  than  of 
the  principals,  but  afterwards  renewed  with  larger 
appreciation  and  deeper  comprehension  —  a  relation 
cemented  by  the  marriage  of  Ibsen's  son  to  Bjorn- 
son's  daughter.  It  is  worth  mentioning  that  Ibsen 
warmly  espoused  the  labor  movement  at  this  early 
period,  at  one  time  narrowly  escaping  arrest  and  im- 
prisonment. From  this  time  until  his  death,  though 
not  active  in  its  display,  he  felt  a  deep  and  abiding 
Jjnterest  in  the  labor  movement. 

The  financial  siege  was  temporarily  raised  when 
Ole  Bull,  the  great  violinist,  offered  Ibsen  the  post 
of  "  theatre-poet  "  at  the  newly  constituted  National 
Theatre  in  Bergen.  Though  Ibsen's  salary  was  less 
than  $350  a  year,  it  was  eked  out  by  travelling 
grants,  and  gave  him  his  first  real  start  in  the  world 


HENRIK  IBSEN  99 

as  a  dramatist.  In  Grlmstad,.  Ibsen  had  written  Cat- 
f//w^j  perhaps  partly,  under  the  influence  of  Schiller; 
The  Warrior's  Mound,  originally  entitled  The  Nor- 
mans, after  the  manner  of  Oehlenschlager,  though 
with  ruder  touch;  and  In  1849,  he  had  actually  begun 
his  work  on  Olaf  Trygveson,  In  1850,  probably  In 
Chrlstlania,  Ibsen  chose  a  motive  from  Faye's  book 
of  Norwegian  folk-lore  as  the  theme  for  The  Ptar- 
migan of  Justedal;  but  on  the  appearance  of  Land- 
stad's  book  of  Norwegian  folk-songs,  and  after 
Ibsen  had  completed  one  act  and  part  of  another,  he 
re-worked  his  material  Into  the  final  form  of  Olaf 
Liljekrans.  He  later  made  a  brief  attempt  at  an 
opera,  under  the  title  of  The  Ptarmigan;  but 
only  one  act  and  a  tiny  fragment  of  another  was  ever 
completed.  The  fragments  of  The  Ptarmigan  of 
Justedal,  and  of  the  opera-text  The  Ptarmigan,  now 
for  the  first  time  published  In  Ibsen's  Posthumous 
Works,  are  Interesting  solely  from  the  biographical 
side. 

It  was  one  of  Ibsen's  duties  as  "  theatre-poet ''  to 
have  a  new  play  ready  for  each  recurrence  of  Jan- 
uary 2,  the  "  Foundation  Day  "  of  the  theatre.  On 
that  day,  In  1853,  Ibsen  produced  his  own  romantic 
comedy  of  St,  John's  Night.  Under  the  spell  of  the 
punch  seasoned  by  a  nixle  with  malicious  Intent, 
the  two  young  people  who  are  engaged  find  that. 
In  reality,  they  love  someone  else  —  quite  after 
the  manner  of  -^  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,     As  in 


loo  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

many  future  dramas  of  Ibsen,  for  Instance,  in  The 
League  of  Youth,  and  The  Wild  Duck,  an  ancient 
wrong  plays  a  decisive  role  In  the  play  —  In  this 
case,  cutting  the  Gordlan  knot,  dissolving  the  be- 
trothal, and  sending  all  away  happy,  each  Jack  with 
his  Jill.  It  betrays  Ibsen's  first  attempt  at  an  artful 
intrigue,  so  admirably  achieved  later  m  Lady  Inger 
of  Oestraat,  the  best  of  Ibsen's  dramas  written  under 
French  Influence.  Julius  Poulsen,  the  mildly  ludi- 
crous poet  and  nationalist,  in  his  own  person  reduces 
to  absurdity  the  aesthetics  of  Helberg;  in  him  we 
recognize  the  prototype  of  both  Peer  Gynt  and 
Hjalmar  Ekdal.  The  whole  drama  may  be  con- 
strued as  an  effort  to  distinguish  between  tru« 
romance  and  false  romanticism.     Juliane's  words: 

"  I  must  suffer  and  be  silent  —  ah !  that  is  woman's  lot  in 
this  world." 

foreshadow  Ingeborg's  memorable  words  in  The 
Pretenders : 

"  To  love,  to  sacrifice  all,  and  be  forgotten,  that  is 
woman's  saga." 

And  clear  prevision  of  A  Comedy  of  Love  lurks  in 
Poulsen's  words: 

"  In  the  state  of  amorousness,  one  treats  love  theoretically. 
Betrothal  and  marriage  on  the  other  hand  —  you  see  — 
those  are  practical  affairs  —  and  in  practice,  as  we  know, 
theories  do  not  always  hold  good." 


HENRIK  IBSEN'  loi 

Though  not  produced  until  1857,  Olaf  Liljekrans 
had  Its  first  conception  seven  years  earlier.  It  is 
woven  from  the  ballad  of  Sir  Olaf,  lured  away  by 
a  fairy  just  as  he  is  on  the  way  to  bring  home  his 
bride,  and  the  folk-tale  of  the  wild,  graceful  young 
maiden  of  Justedal  valley,  roaming  the  woods  like 
the  shy  ptarmigan.  The  story  is  trivial;  and  the 
characters  are  Insipid.  There  is  only  one  incident 
which  points  forward  to  the  Ibsen  of  a  maturer 
phase  of  art,  the  scene  In  which  Hemming  and  Inge- 
borg,  the  Impractical  lovers,  discover  after  their 
flight  together  that  they  are  incapable  of  the  sort 
of  love  which  will  sustain  them  through  all  priva- 
tions. This  motive  was,  in  a  later  year,  to  furnish 
the  Impulse  for  the  like  predicament  of  Falk  and 
Svanhild  in  /^  Comedy  of  Love. 

The  publication  of  Ibsen's  Posthumous  Works 
brings  to  light  Ibsen's  hitherto  unpublished  skit  on 
current  political  affairs  in  Norway  —  much  the  sort 
of  thing  one  frequently  reads  in  New  York  Life;  it 
is  deserving  of  a  word  before  entering  into  the 
deeper  current  of  Ibsen's  development  as  a  dramatist 
In  Lady  Inger  of  Oestraat.  When  Ibsen  came  to 
Christlania  In  March,  1850,  he  was  full  of  revolu- 
tionary ideas ;  and  a  year  later  he  observed  with  sa- 
tirical contempt  the  new  Storthing  abandoning  the 
advanced  position  they  had  taken  in  1848.  One 
morning  he  visited  the  Tribune  of  the  Storthing,  and 
the  same  evening,  while  attending  a  performance  of 


102  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Belllnrs  opera  Norma,  the  idea  of  the  political  sat- 
ire came  Into  his  head.  In  the  little  satire,  Severus 
—  otherwise  Herr  Stabell  —  flirts  now  with  Norma 
(the  Opposition),  now  with  Adalglsa  (the  party 
in  power)  ;  various  other  members  of  the  Storthing 
are  openly  satirized.  All  the  vaunted  pretensions  of 
adherence  that  Severus  first  makes  to  Norma  are 
proven  insincere  in  the  end  when  Adalglsa  throws 
around  him  her  protection  and  transforms  him  Into 
a  demigod  —  or  in  other  words,  a  Minister !  The 
effect  is  magical :  all,  even  Norma,  bow  down  rever- 
entially before  him,  acknowledging  in  the  position 
of  Minister,  gained  at  whatever  sacrifice  of  party 
fealty,  the  true  goal  of  the  legislator.  Slight  as  It  is, 
the  little  skit  shows  Ibsen  in  a  lightly  satirical  mood ; 
and  points  forward  to  the  time  when  he  will  pour 
out  the  vials  of  his  wrath  and  contempt  upon  com- 
promise and  half-heartedness  in  his  own  nation.  It 
stands  as  a  signpost  to  the  Ibsen  of  The  League  of 
Youth  and  An  Enemy  of  the  People. 

In  1854  Ibsen  revived  The  Warrior* s  Mound  at 
the  National  Theatre,  without  popular  success;  and 
In  1855,  he  presented  at  the  same  theatre  La^y  i^g^IL 
of  Oestraat,  his  first  drama  which  possesses  signifi- 
cance, not  only  as  a  link  In  his  artistic  development, 
but  for  its  own  striking  and  signal  merits. 

Lady  Inger  of  Oestraat,  a  long,  five-act  play,  is 
really  a  remarkable  imaginative  re-vltallzatlon  of  the 
spirit  of  an  epoch  centuries  past.     Comparison  of 


HENRIK  IBSEN  103 

the  drama  with  the  facts  of  history  reveals  Ibsen's 
faculty  for  discovering  a  splendid  dramatic  situation 
in  an  unpromising  historical  episode.  There  is 
something  mystic  and  crepuscular  in  the  atmosphere 
of  this  dark  tragedy;  and  yet  its  mystery  is  less  the 
spell  of  mood,  than  the  confusion  that  results  from 
imperfect  and  mystifying  technique.  "  Go  back  to 
Lady  Inger/'  says  Bernard  Shaw,  "  and  you  will  be 
tempted  to  believe  that  Ibsen  was  deliberately  bur- 
lesquing the  absurdities  of  Richardson's  booth;  for 
the  action  is  carried  on  mostly  in  impossible  asides." 
For  the  first  time  in  his  career,  Ibsen  reveals  the 
influence  of  his  studies,  both  of  classic  and  contem- 
porary drama.  The  Greek  element  imbues  the  story 
itsel£^ — the  retributive  justice  of  secret  sin  com- 
mitted long  anterior  to  the  opening  of  the  play  — 
that  retrospective  method  which  Ibsen  afterwards 
made  so  peculiarly  his  own.  The  complications  and 
intrigues  show  the  diligence  with  which  Ibsen  has 
studied  the  artificial  methods  of  that  dexterous  con- 
triver, Scribe.  For  the  first  time  also  in  his  career 
Ibsen  displays  real  genius  for  deep  characterization 
—  alike  in  the  queenly  woman,  apparently  destined 
to  free  her  people  from  the  tyrant,  yet  harassed  by 
the  thought  of  her  past  transgressions;  in  Nils 
Lykke,  the  fascinating  libertine,  purified  through  his 
love  for  a  high-souled,  gentle  woman;  and  Elina, 
Ibsen's  first  genuinely  appealing  female  character. 
Lady  Inger  of  Oestraat  was  not  a  success  —  failing 


I04  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

to  please  the  playgoers  of  Bergen  and  not  wholly 
satisfying  Ibsen  himself.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered 
at;  for  Ibsen  was  fumbling  with  technical  methods, 
obsolescent  and  derivative,  not  yet  having  discovered 
his  own  original  fingering  for  the  dramatic  key- 
board. This  dark  drama,  reminiscent  now  of  Mac- 
beth, now  of  Websterian  violence  and  blood,  now 
of  German  romanticism,  now  of  Scribe,  is  striking, 
but  imperfectly  conceived.  Genuinely  interesting  as 
a  strong  link  in  the  evolution  of  Ibsen's  art,  as  a 
step  in  the  historical  development  of  contemporary 
drama  it  is  virtually  negligible. 

In  The  Feast  at  Solhaug,  produced  at  the  Bergen 
Theatre  on  January  2,  1856,  Ibsen  achieved  his  first 
genuine  local  success.  He  was  recalled  again  and 
again  to  the  footlights,  was  serenaded,  made  a 
speech,  and  afterwards  confessed  that  he  was  quite 
happy  over  it  all.  The  play  spread  abroad  his  fame 
throughout  the  Scandinavian  countries  and  Den- 
mark. Its  popularity  is  scarcely  explainable  to-day, 
except  from  the  fact  that  the  play  is  in  the  line  of 
classic  Norwegian  development.  The  extravagant 
and  melodramatic  plot  possesses  no  permanent  hu- 
man interest;  and  the  only  noteworthy  feature  it 
possesses,  in  its  relation  to  the  development  of 
Ibsen's  art,  is  the  situation  which  Ibsen  employs 
again  and  again  in  later  plays;  the  placing  of  a  man 
between  two  women  who  struggle  for  his  love,  the 


HENRIK  IBSEN  105 

one  fiery  and  passionate,  the  other  gentle  and  tender. 
It  lends  confirmation  to  the  belief  that,  instead  of 
enlarging  his  horizon,  Ibsen  tends  rather  to  intensi- 
fication of  method  —  digging  deeper  and  ever  deeper 
into  the  sub-stratum  of  human  feeling  and  human 
consciousness. 

We  come  now  to  a  turning-point  in  Ibsen's  career 
as  a  dramatic  artist.  He  has  abandoned  forever  the 
romantic  ballad  —  it  has  given  him  all  it  had  to  give. 
His  career  as  director  of  the  theatre  at  Bergen  is  at 
an  end,  and  he  has  only  one  notable  play  to  his 
credit  —  Lady  Inger  of  Oestraat,  And  yet  this  five- 
years'  apprenticeship  at  Bergen  may  be  said  to  mark 
the  turning-point  In  Ibsen's  life.  This  blind  step 
in  the  dark,  taken  in  the  magnificent  rashness  of 
youth,  was  the  definitive  step  in  his  career  as  a 
dramatist.  The  Bergen  apprenticeship  enabled  him, 
through  experimenting  with  and  discarding  the 
technical  methods  of  others,  to  discover  his  own  in- 
dividual and  unique  methods  of  dramatic  procedure. 
Like  Antoine,  Claretie  or  Granville  Barker,  Ibsen  J 
has  learned,  through  precept,  practice  and  example,/ 
the  arts  of  theatre  management,  of  stage  technique,!- 
of  dramaturgy.  From  this  time  forward  we  dis-! 
cover  in  Ibsen,  not  a  Norwegian  bungler  in  drama, 
but  a  great  world-dramatist.  Ibsen's  drama  now 
belongs  to  the  future. 


io6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

VI 

In  1857,  Ibsen  was  appointed  director  of  the 
Norwegian  Theatre  at  Chrlstlania.  Now  began  an- 
other six-year  period,  the  most  painful  In  Ibsen^s  life. 
He  had  to  fight  not  only  for  the  existence  of  himself 
and  his  family  —  for  he  was  married  In  1856  —  but 
actually  for  the  very  existence  of  Norwegian  poetry 
and  the  Norwegian  stage.  While  looking  for  a  sub- 
ject that  would  display,  In  broad  and  primitive 
forms,  the  clash  of  characters  In  an  ancient  Norwe- 
gian family,  he  fell  upon  the  Volsung  Saga,  By 
dramatizing  a  particular  episode,  he  hoped  to  raise 
the  national  epic  material  to  a  higher  degree  of 
artistic  valuation.  It  Is  a  mark  of  the  struggle  be- 
tween Ibsen's  realistic  mind  and  his  romantic  tem- 
perament that  the  aim  evolved  was  to  present,  not 
the  mythic  world,  but  the  life  of  Norway  In  primitive 
times.  Ibsen  accomplished  his  purpose  by  employ- 
ing prose  as  a  medium  Instead  of  poetry,  discovering 
In  the  event  that  the  play  was  more  poetical  In  prose 
than  In  verse.  The  result  was  an  authentically  dra- 
matic, finely  executed  achievement. 

The  Vikings  at  Helgeland  Is  the  tragedy  of  the 
man  who  has  taken  the  credit  of  another  man's 
deed  —  a  theme  of  vicarious  sacrifice  exploited  by 
Rostand  with  notable  success  In  Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 
In  Ibsen's  play,  the  strong,  passionate  heroic  woman, 
Hjordls,  whose  father  was  killed  In  a  viking  raid, 


HENRIK  IBSEN  107 

has  lived  from  girlhood  in  the  conqueror's  home. 
Sigurd  and  his  friend  Gunnar  come,  see  and  are 
conquered  by  her;  she,  secretly  loving  the  fearless 
Sigurd,  promises  herself  to  him  who  kills  the  bear. 
Disguised  in  Gunnar's  armor,  Sigurd  wins  the  maid 
for  his  friend. 

The  tragedy  begins  when  Gunnar,  committed  to 
the  secret,  has  to  suffer  the  torment  of  listening  to 
the  praises  of  his  deed  —  a  deed  which  he  has  not 
only  not  performed,  but  which  he  was  incapable  of 
performing.  His  secret  becomes  a  ghastly  burden. 
The  tragedy  sharpens  In  intensity  when,  as  Gunnar's 
wife,  Hjordls  discovers  that  the  man  she  loves  was 
he  who  really  won  her.  There  is  a  limit  to  self- 
sacrifice,  she  proudly  tells  him  —  and  no  man  may 
with  impunity  give  to  his  friend  the  woman  he  loves. 
Hjordls  is  most  cruel  to  him  she  most  loves,  slay- 
ing him  that  they  may  go  out  together  upon  the 
winds. 

There  Is  something  of  the  sublime  horror  of 
ancient  days  —  as  well  as  of  Its  primitive  strength 
and  unsullied  emotions  —  in  this  play.  And  doubt- 
less Ibsen  meant  it  as  a  tonic,  an  invlgorant  for  a  gen- 
eration sated  with  cheap  emotionalism,  rank  insin- 
cerity and  forgotten  loyalty.  The  play  aroused 
violent  opposition,  was  decried  on  all  sides,  and  left 
Ibsen  more  depressed  than  ever.  Next  he  turns  to 
The  Comedy  of  Love  —  only  to  rouse  a  tempest 
about  his  ears.     Once  more  he  returns  to  the  sagas, 


io8  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

in  the  hope  of  bettering  his  former  effort  and  win- 
ning real  renown.  The  new  play  Is  known  as  The_ 
PreJenderSj  though  a  more  correct  translation  would 
be  The  Stuff  from  which  Kings  are  Made,  Here 
we  have  the  tragedy  of  the  man  who  steals  the^ 
tEought  of  another  —  just  as,  in  The  Vikings  at  HeU 
geland,  we  have  the  tragedy  of  the  man  who  steals 
the  deed  of  another.  Georg  Brandes  says  in  a 
classic  passage: 

"  In  The  Pretenders  two  figures  again  stand  opposed  to 
one  another  as  the  superior  and  the  inferior  beings  .  .  . 
It  is  towards  this  contrast  that  Ibsen  has  hitherto  uncon- 
sciously directed  his  endeavors,  just  as  Nature  feels  her 
way  in  her  blind  preliminary  attempts  to  form  new  types. 
Hakon  and  Skule  are  pretenders  to  the  same  throne,  scions 
of  royalty  out  of  which  a  king  may  be  made.  But  the  first 
is  the  incarnation  of  fortune,  victory,  right  and  confidence; 
the  second  —  the  principal  figure  in  the  play,  masterly  in 
its  truth  and  originality  —  is  the  brooder,  a  prey  to  Inward 
struggles  and  endless  distrust,  brave  and  ambitious,  with 
perhaps  every  qualification  and  claim  to  be  king,  but  lack- 
ing the  inexpressible  somewhat  that  would  give  a  value  to  all 
the  rest.  ...  *  I  am  a  king's  arm,'  he  says,  *  mayhap  a 
king's  brain  as  well ;  but  Hakon  is  the  whole  king.'  *  You 
have  wisdom  and  courage,  and  all  noble  gifts  of  the  mind,* 
says  Hakon  to  him ;  *  you  are  born  to  stand  nearest  a  king, 
but  not  to  be  a  king  yourself.'  " 

There  Is  one  signally  momentous  passage  in  the 


# 


HENRIK  IBSEN  109 

play  deserving   of  quotation.     Skule   eagerly  asks 
the  old  Skald: 

"What  gift  do  I  need  to  become  a  King?" 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  Skald,  "you  are  a  King!  " 

Then  Skule  utters  the  thought  that  is  eating  its 
cankerous  way  into  his  soul: 

"  Have  you,  at  all  times,  full  faith  that  you  are  a 
Skald?" 

Here  is  a  strange  mingling  of  that  truth  and 
poetry,  that  Wahrheit  and  Dichtung  of  which  Goethe 
wrote  so  eloquently.  As  Gosse  says :  "  It  Is  by  no 
means  extravagant  to  see  in  the  noble  emulation  of 
the  dukes  in  The  Pretenders  some  reflection  of 
Ibsen's  attitude  toward  the  youthful  and  brilliant 
Bjornson.  The  luminous  self-reliance,  the  ardor 
and  confidence  and  good  fortune  of  Bjornson-Hakon 
could  not  but  offer  a  violent  contrast  with  the  gloom 
and  hesitation,  the  sick  revulsions  of  hope  and  final 
lack  of  conviction  of  Ibsen-Skule.  ...  *  The  luck 
lest  man  Is  the  greatest  man,'  says  Bishop  Nicholas 
In  the  play,  and  Bjornson  seemed  in  those  melancholy 
years  as  lucky  as  Ibsen  was  unlucky."  Bjornson  was 
upborne  by  the  favor  of  the  populace;  Ibsen  worked 
without  favor  and  without  support.  And  yet,  as 
Rudyard  Kipling  says,  "  He  rides  fastest  who  rides 
alone."  This  was  Ibsen's  darkest  hour.  The  end 
Is  not  yet 


no  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

VII 

Henrik  Ibsen  began  his  trilogy  of  satires  with  a 
play  as  provocative,  as  piquant  as  it  is  satirical.  It 
is  the  work  of  a  prisoner  of  hope,  a  baffled  idealist: 
Ibsen  is  seeking  to  chastise  his  own  Norwegian  peo- 
ple by  painting  them  just  as  he  saw  them,  without 
fear  or  favor.  A  daring  novel,  The  Sheriffs 
Daughters,  by  Camilla  Collett,  was  creating  a  pro- 
found sensation  in  Norway.  This  novel,  a  harbin- 
ger of  the  new  thought  movement  in  Norway,  was 
a  vigorous  attack  upon  the  marriage  of  convenience. 
That  no  marriage  not  based  on  love  can  be  happy, 
was  the  book's  thesis.  Depressed  by  meagre  suc- 
cess, harassed  by  financial  embarrassment,  Ibsen  was 
in  no  mood  to  accept  so  roseate  a  view  belled  so 
utterly  by  the  conditions  he  saw  around  him.  No 
play  of  Ibsen's  has  been  handled  so  crudely  by  the 
critics  as  The  Comedy  of  Love,  this  most  diaphanous 
structure  of  light  satire.  Svanhild,  now  for  the  first 
time  spread  before  us  In  the  Nachgelassene  Schrif' 
ten,  was  begun  as  early  as  1856;  the  play  was  finally 
completed  in  1862.  It  was  begun  In  prose,  and  com» 
pleted  In  rhymed  Iambics;  and  the  original  draft 
contains  nothing  critically  noteworthy.  But  it  is  of 
the  highest  Importance  to  note  that  In  a  letter  to 
Clemens  Petersen  (Aug.  10,  1863),  lately  published, 
Ibsen  frankly  confesses :  "  As  to  The  Comedy  of 
Love,  I  can  assure  you  that  if  ever  it  was  necessary 


HENRIK  IBSEN  iii 

for  an  author  to  rid  himself  of  a  sentiment  and  a 
subject  it  was  so  with  me  when  I  began  that  work.'* 
The  Comedy  of  Love  is  the  image  of  an  evanescent 
mood:  it  was  Ibsen's  way  of  getting  rid  of  it. 

Perhaps  the  most  noteworthy  passage  in  the  play, 
is  a  scene  which  may  have  furnished  the  model  for 
the  "  auction-scene "  in  Bernard  Shaw's  Candida. 
Guldstad,  the  wealthy,  shrewd  old  merchant,  gives 
the  counsel  of  golden  common  sense,  which  induces 
the  lovers  —  the  poet  Falk  and  the  idealistic  Svan- 
hild  —  to  part. 

Hear  a  golden  counsel,  then. 
Use  your  experience;  watch  your  fellow-men, 
How  every  loving  couple  struts  and  swaggers 
Like  millionaires  among  a  world  of  beggars. 
They  scamper  to  the  altar,  lad  and  lass, 
They  make  a  home,  and  drunk  with  exultation, 
Dwell  for  awhile  within  its  walls  of  glass. 
Then  comes  the  day  of  reckoning  —  but,  alas, 
They're  bankrupt,  and  their  house  in  liquidation! 
Bankrupt  the  bloom  of  youth  on  vi^oman's  brow; 
Bankrupt  the  flower  of  passion  in  her  breast, 
Bankrupt  the  husband's  battle-ardor  now, 
Bankrupt  each  spark  of  passion  he  possessed. 
Bankrupt  the  whole  estate,  below,  above  — 
And  yet  this  broken  pair  were  once  confessed 
A  first-class  house  in  all  the  wares  of  love. 

Tennyson  says  that  it  is  better  to  have  loved  and 
lost  than  never  to  have  loved  at  all.     Ibsen  main- 


112  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tained  —  not  in  a  general  philosophical  way,  but 
with  respect  to  the  conditions  he  saw  immediately 
around  him  —  that  it  is  better,  if  youthfully,  ro- 
mantically in  love,  to  separate,  rather  than  to  marry. 
Ibsen  is  in  agreement  with  the  brilliant  Frenchman 
who  asserted  that  all  comedies  end  with  a  wedding, 
because  it  is  then  that  the  tragedy  begins!  Ibsen 
was  so  much  the  observer,  with  the  added  divination 
of  the  poet,  that  in  this  play  he  almost  achieved  the 
distinction  of  a  philosophical  distillation  of  the  real 
essence  of  love.  Mirrored  in  his  mood  at  the  mo- 
ment, love  appeared  to  Ibsen  as  one  of  two  things: 
either  a  dead,  dull  thing,  a  mere  surfeit;  or  else  the 
evanescent  flame  of  the  moment,  or,  to  change  the 
figure,  a  glass  of  champagne  upon  the  board  of  life. 
There  was.  In  Ibsen's  vision,  another  deeper  love, 
which  he  found  not  until  When  We  Dead  Awaken 
—  If  Falk  and  Svanhild  had  only  possessed  the  true 
faith  In  the  self-sustaining  power  of  love,  Ibsen 
means,  they  would  never  have  parted.  This  Is  the 
materialistic  flaw  In  the  structure  of  modern  life. 
For  the  Inevitable  erotic  Illusion,  Ibsen  betrays  no 
scorn;  he  reserves  his  contempt  for  the  decay  of 
character  consequent  to  the  acceptance  of  the  vulgar 
convention  of  the  legal  union,  by  this  frail  and 
weak-hearted  generation.  The  play  Is  a  comedy, 
not  a  philosophy;  Ibsen  sought  only,  to  use  his  own 
accurate  words,  to  represent  "  the  contrast  In  our 
present  state  of  society  between  the  actual  and  the 


HENRIK  IBSEN  1131 

ideal  in  all  that  relates  to  love  and  marriage."  It 
is  futile  and  beside  the  mark  to  point  out  Ibsen's 
one-sldedness  In  making  no  allowance  for  the  vast 
number  of  happy  marriages  based  upon  love,  and  in 
valuing  the  memory  of  a  beautiful  love  above  the 
humanizing  responsibilities  of  consecrated  marriage, 
the  enfranchising  bonds  of  partnership  and  parent- 
hood. How  stupid  —  in  face  of  the  parting  be- 
tween Falk  and  Svanhild: 

Folk  (softly  to  Svanhild)  — 

God  bless  thee,  bride  of  my  life's  dawn ; 

Where'er  I  be,  to  nobler  deed  thou'lt  wake  me. 

Svanhild    (looks  after  him  a  moment,  then  says  softly, 

firmly:) 

Now  over  is  my  life,  by  lea  and  lawn. 

The  leaves  are  falling  —  now  the  world  may  take  me. 

Ibsen  clearly  points  out  that,  in  the  life  around 
him,  creature  comforts  are  valued  far  above  the 
sustaining  power  of  love  —  and  when  Georg  Bran- 
des,  urging  the  claim  of  ideal  engagements  eventu- 
ating in  ideal  marriages,  remarked:  "You  know 
there  are  sound  potatoes  and  rotten  potatoes  in  the 
world,'*  Ibsen  replied  with  a  cynicism,  as  light  as  it 
Is  sharp :  "  I  am  afraid  none  of  the  sound  potatoes 
have  come  under  my  observation."  The  tone  of 
The  Comedy  of  Love  as  an  attack  on  love  and  mar- 
riage branded  Ibsen  as  an  "  immoral  "  ( !)  writer  — 
a  charge  which  a  lifetime  of  blameless  conduct  alone 
could  dissipate. 


y 


\ 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

From  Rome,  after  a  space,  came  a  momentous 
message.  The  frustration  of  an  idealistic  human 
spirit  by  the  savage  Irony  of  reality  Is  the  theme  of. 
Brand;  and  Its  artistic  temper  at  once  ranges  it  in 
the  category  of  Hamlet,  Manfred  and  Faust.  The 
epic-fragment  discovered  by  Pontoppldan  and  re- 
cently published,  with  its  souvenirs  of  Heiberg  and 
Welhaven,  prompts  the  wish  that  Ibsen  had  adhered 
to  his  original  intention.  For  whatever  the  me- 
dium. Brand  is  essentially  an  epic.  Brand  himself 
is  a  figure  of  heroic,  even  Titanic  mold,  arraigning 
all  compromise  with  his  ideals  of  Christianity  be- 
fore the  bar  of  Heaven.  The  God  of  his  worship 
is  the  God  of  the  Old  Testament,  animated  with 
wrath  and  Indignation  against  a  faltering  genera- 
tion. What  Brand  (like  Ibsen  himself  —  who  con- 
fessed that  he  was  Brand,  In  his  best  moments)  de- 
sires Is  so  radical  a  revolution  of  the  spirit  of  man 
that  the  spirit  of  compromise  In  man  will  be  chained 
and  buried  forever  from  sight.  As  priest  and  man, 
he  is  determined  to  champion  at  any  and  all  costs 
the  cause  of  things,  not  as  they  seem,  not  even  as 
they  are,  but  as  he  Is  convinced  they  should  be. 
Man's  self-development  Is  his  highest  duty;  conces- 
sions to  the  world  take  the  form  of  evil  and  tempta- 
tion. The  only  way  to  develop  one's  self  is  to  stand 
free  and  to  stand  alone.  Brand's  motto,  "  All  or 
Nothing,"  is  the  logical  epitome  of  his  point  of 
view. 


HENRIK  IBSEN  115 

^Brand  is  a  terrible  arraignment  of  the  half-hearted 
pietism  of  the  Norwegian  people.  And  yet  Brand's 
ideal  of  pietism  is  an  ideal  unattainable:  it  cannot 
survive  the  shock  of  reality.  Brand  Is  the  pictorial 
projection  of  a  splendidly  hopeless,  idealistic  dream. 
Cervantes  in  Don  Quixote  portrayed  the  bank- 
ruptcy of  chivalry  in  collision  with  the  brutal  facts 
of  life;  so  Ibsen  In  Brand  portrays  the  bankruptcy 
of  the  pletlstic  Ideal  as  soon  as  it  Is  brought  Into 
collision  with  sordid  reality.  As  soon  as  he  put  his 
faith  to  the  test  of  acts,  Brand  brought  nothing  but 
suffering  upon  all  whom  he  loved;  he  had  reared  a 
castle  in  the  clouds  which  none  —  not  even  himself 
—  might  Inhabit. 

In  Peer  Gynt,  the  brilliant,  formless,  parti-col- 
ored pendant  to  Brand,  Ibsen  shows  to  the  world  the 
other  side  of  the  Norwegian  people.  Peer  Gynt 
has  for  Ideal  the  utterly  selfish  gratification  of  his 
own  Individuality  —  regardless  of  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  He  glows  with  the  desire  to  be  romantic, 
but  he  has  not  the  will  or  the  courage  to  do  the 
romantic  thing;  so  he  takes  It  all  out  In  romancing. 
His  Ideal  of  man  Is  a  sort  of  deml-god  and  super- 
braggart  combined,  of  all-conquering  will  —  a  mas- 
terful fellow,  a  '*  magerful  man,"  a  fascinating  dog 
whom  no  woman  can  refuse,  a  born  fighter,  a  gal- 
lant knight.  But  Peer  soon  discovers  that  no  such 
bird  of  paradise  has  ever  sung  in  the  world-concert. 
The  only  thing  left  for  him,  in  his  disillusion,  Is  to 


ii6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

weave  illusions  about  himself,  and  even  to  imagine 
that  he  is  the  hero  of  his  own  romantic  lies.  Peer 
Gynt  is  the  tremendous  prototype  of  Sentimental 
Tommy.  After  many  adventures,  by  sea  and  by 
land,  Peer  returns  home  in  the  end,  a  pitiful  and 
hopeless  failure  in  all  save  worldly  goods.  He  can- 
not gain  admittance  even  to  hell;  for  even  as  a  sin- 
ner, he  Is  only  second-rate.  He  has.  lacked  the  great- 
ness to  sin  greatly.  He  must  go  at  once  into  the 
crucible  of  the  great  Button-Molder,  be  melted 
down  and  cast  again.  For,  after  all,  he  is  only  base 
metal. 

Ibsen's  effort  is  to  arouse  the  world,  to  open  Its 
eyes  to  a  freer,  richer  future,  to  point  out  the  need 
for  ridding  itself  of  false  ideals  —  ideals  which  can- 
not be  realized  in  acts.  Not  the  least  strange  fea- 
ture of  Ibsen's  career  Is  the  fact  that  he  started 
from  the  innermost  depths  of  romanticism.  Only 
gradually  and  painfully  did  he  work  himself  up  and 
out  of  the  slough  of  romanticism  on  to  the  firm 
ground  of  realism,  and  Into  the  pure  air  of  freedom 
and  truth.  Ibsen  has  come  now  to  the  end  of 
romanticism.  All  his  discouragements  and  disap- 
pointments, the  apathy,  indifference  and  hostility  he 
experienced,  bred  in  him  a  spirit  of  discontent  and 
revolt.  This  revolt  Is  gqing  to  find  expression  In  a 
long  and  detailed  exposure  of  modern  civilization, 
Its  venerable  and  antiquated  institutions,  its  shal- 
low and  outworn  ideals,  its  feebly  conventional  mor- 


HENRIK  IBSEN  117 

als,  Its  pettiness,  weakness  and  hypocrisy.  Here- 
after we  see  Ibsen  probing  the  secrets  of  the  age. 
"  My  vocation  Is  to  question,  not  to  answer; "  so  he 
expresses  the  world-thoughts  that  are  in  the  air, 
voices  the  spirit  of  the  age,  taps  the  moral  coin  of  the 
era  only  to  find  It  debased  or  counterfeit.  Ibsen 
now  begins  a  new  career :  the  breach  with  his  country 
sounds  In  his  sardonic  lines,  written  In  July,  1872: 

My  countrymen,  who  filled  for  me  deep  bowls 

Of  wholesome  bitter  medicine,  such  as  gave 

The  poet,  on  the  margin  of  his  grave, 

Fresh  force  to  fight  where  broken  twilight  rolls, — 

My  countrymen,  who  sped  me  o'er  the  wave, 

An  exile,  with  my  griefs  for  pilgrim-robes, 

My  fears  for  burdens,  doubts  for  stafE,  to  roam, — 

From  the  wide  world  I  send  you  greeting  home. 

I  send  you  thanks  for  gifts  that  help  and  harden, 
Thanks  for  each  hour  of  purifying  pain; 

Each  plant  that  springs  in  my  poetic  garden 
Is  rooted  where  your  harshness  poured  its  rain; 

Each  shoot  in  which  it  blooms  and  burgeons  forth 

It  owes  to  that  gray  weather  from  the  North; 

The  sun  relaxes,  but  the  fog  secures! 

My  country,  thanks !     My  life's  best  gifts  were  yours. 

VIII 

Artificial  as  it  is  under  any  exalted  standard  of 
dramatic  art.  The  League  of  Youth  marks  a  point 


118  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  departure  of  incalculable  importance  in  Ibsen's 
career.  At  last  he  has  discovered  the  true  mcdiujrn 
for  the  society  comedy  —  the  terse,  pliant  prose  of^ 
dally  speech.  While  this  play  exhibits  all  the  ear- 
marks of  Ibsen's  apprenticeship  in  the  school  of 
Scribe,  it  betrays  marked  independence  and  origi- 
nality —  in  the  realistic  coloring  of  the  dialogue,  the 
prosaic  naturalness  of  the  conversations,  and  the 
omission  of  all  monologues  and  asides.  It  is  what 
Ibsen  calls  a  "  peaceful  work  " —  the  product,  not 
of  wine  and  walnuts,  so  to  speak,  but  of  Budweiser 
and  Bologna.  This  satire  upon  the  prevailing  po- 
litical conditions  in  Norway  is  provincial,  indeed 
suburban,  in  tone;  and  gives  an  excellent  handle  to 
Ibsen's  detractors.  No  wonder  it  caused  an  uproar 
—  being  a  blow  at  Bjornson,  or  at  least,  as  Ibsen 
claimed,  at  his  lie-steeped  clique  I  One  cannot  blame 
Bjornson  for  royal  indignation  over  what  he  termed 
Ibsen's  "  attempted  assassination."  The  play  is 
a  complex  of  intrigues;  and  misunderstandings  and 
mishaps  play  a  large  part  in  the  action.  The 
greatest  merit  of  the  play  is  its  foreshadowing 
of  the  modern  woman.  At  one  point,  little  Selma 
Bratsberg  vehemently  exclaims :  "  Oh,  how  you 
have  maltreated  me  —  shamefully  maltreated  me, 
all  of  you  together!  You  have  always  compelled 
me  to  receive,  and  never  permitted  me  to  give. 
You  have  never  required  the  least  sacrifice  of  me, 
nor   laid   upon   me   the   slightest  weight   of   care. 


r 


HENRIK  IBSEN  119 

When  I  asked  to  share  your  burdens,  you  put  me 
off  with  a  flattering  jest.  How  I  hate  and  detest 
you !  You  have  brought  me  up  to  be  dandled  like 
a  doll,  and  to  be  played  with,  as  one  plays  with  a 
child.'*  In  this  speech  Is  found  the  seed  of  that 
revolt  against  the  false  standard  for  women  then  in 
vogue.  Brandes  told  Ibsen  that  the  character  of 
Selma  did  not  have  sufficient  scope,  and  urged  Ibsen 
to  write  another  play  to  that  end.  Ibsen  brooded 
over  that  suggestion,  and  m  Nora,  of  A  DolVs 
House,  he  created  a  Selma  with  the  wide  world  for 
scope. 

Professor  Lorenz  DIetrlchson,  Ibsen's  life- 
long friend,  once  told  me,  when  I  visited  him  in 
Rome,  that  It  was  he  who  first  directed  Ibsen's  at- 
tention to  the  career  of  the  Emperor  Julian.  In 
this  monumental  work  of  Imagination  and  philoso- 
phic conflict,  the  labor  of  years,  Ibsen  achieved 
neither  a  great  drama  for  the  stage,  in  which  the 
characters  "  stand  solidly  In  the  light  of  their  time," 
nor  a  fundamentally  coherent  philosophical  synthesis. 
This  "  world-historic  "  drama.  In  two  parts  of  five 
acts  each,  Casar^s  Apostasy  and  The  Emperor 
Julian,  purports  to  portray  Ibsen's  deepest  spiritual 
experiences  through  the  medium  of  the  soul  of 
Julian,  the  theatre  for  the  warring  religious  tenets  of 
the  ancient  and  modern  worlds.  Instead  of  showing 
us  a  supreme  world-figure,  consistently  evolving  un- 
der  the   pressure    of   profound   conviction,    Ibsen 


I20  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

projects  a  colossal  egomaniac,  victim  of  philosophic 
dilettantism.     As  Brand  stood  for  rigorous  fidelity 


to  an  idea,  and  Peer  Gynt  for  the  disciplinary  bamc-^ 
ruptcy  of  laxity,  Emperor  and  Galilean  stands  for 
the  struggle  towards  the  golden  mean,  the  higher 
synthesis  of  truth.  In  his  effort  at  the  reconciliation 
of  pagarirBeauty  ^d  Christian  Truth,  Julian  Is  a 
tragic  failure  —  for,  having  repudiated  his  mission, 
he  cannot  achieve  the  "  vision  splendid "  of  the 
**  Third  Empire,  In  which  the  twin-natured  shall 
reign." 

One  prose  play  intervenes  between  The  League  of 
Youth  and  //  Doll's  House  —  the  play  with  which 
Ibsen  conquered  Germany.  German  critics  extrava- 
gantly confessed :  "  We  found  our  aesthetic  creed  — 
our  young  eyes  were  opened  by  it  to  all  the  theatric 
artificiality  of  the  day.  We  trembled  with  joy." 
How  strangely  these  words  sound  —  In  view  of  the 
theatric  artificiality  so  patent  to-day  In  The  Pillars 
of  Society,  Ibsen's  first  attempt  at  the  "  photography 
by  comedy "  which  Bjornson  had  urged  on  Ibsen 
eight  years  before. 

Consul  Bernick,  the  protagonist  of  the  play,  Is  a 
pillar  of  society  In  his  native  town  —  Its  leading 
citizen  and  financier.  His  Is  a  model  home ;  his  firm 
enjoys  an  established  reputation;  he  himself  Is 
looked  up  to  as  a  man  of  high  honor  and  business 
Integrity.  But  this  pillar  of  society  has  for  foun- 
dation the  treacherous  sands  of  sham,   hypocrisy 


HENRIK  IBSEN  121 

and  lies.  In  his  youth,  Bernick  had  been  guilty 
of  grave  Indiscretions,  financial  and  sexual,  the 
blame  for  which  he  succeeded  In  foisting  upon  his 
brother-in-law.  In  his  youth,  BernIck  betrayed  the 
woman  he  loved  In  order  to  marry  an  heiress.  He 
builds  his  house  and  reputation  upon  this  insecure 
foundation.  He  lives  a  triple  lie  —  to  his  wife,  to 
his  brother-in-law,  to  the  sweetheart  of  his  youth. 
In  the  end,  his  early  sweetheart,  aided  by  circum- 
stances, brings  him  to  a  realization  of  the  hypocrisy 
of  his  position;  and  he  is  brought  sharply  face  to 
face  with  the  alternative  of  silence  and  success,  or 
revelation  and  ruin.  Fortified  by  the  noble  counsel 
of  his  former  sweetheart  he  confesses  all  —  to  his 
wife,  and  to  his  fellow-townsmen  assembled  en  masse 
to  do  him  honor.  In  the  end,  he  declares  that  the 
true  and  faithful  women  are  the  pillars  of  society; 
but  his  former  sweetheart  replies:  "No,  no;  the 
spirits  of  Truth  and  Freedom  —  these  are  the  Pil- 
lars of  Society."  These  spirits  Ibsen  Invokes  again 
and  again  in  his  later  plays  —  that  truth  which 
means  unfaltering  recognition  of  fact  and  unflinching 
facing  of  reality,  that  freedom  which  connotes  en- 
franchisement from  the  false  ideals  of  a  false  society. 
As  a  realistic  picture  of  modern  life,  The  Pillar:^ 
of  Society  is  noteworthy;  and  it  Is  deserving  of  rec- 
ord that  the  crucial  Incident  of  The  Indian  Girl 
found  Its  origin  In  Samuel  Plimsoll's  agitation  in 
England,  fully  reflected  in  the  press  of  Norway,  for 


/^  tfie 


122  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

proper  legal  regulations  concerning  insurance  upon 
unseaworthy  crafts.  As  a  drama,  its  technique  is 
very  vulnerable :  Ibsen  has  not  yet  written  his  com- 
plete declaration  of  independence  from  the  school  of 
Scribe.  Moreover,  it  is  conventional,  both  In  treat- 
ment and  solution.  Misrepresentation,  evil  and  In- 
trigue prevail  for  a  time ;  wrong  rules  while  waiting 
justice  sleeps.  In  the  end  comes  retribution  —  right 
prevails  and  truth  Is  triumphant.  But  in  reality 
Bernick  is  reformed,  not  by  conflict  with  fate,  but 
by  providential  Intervention  with  a  sort  of  death- 
bed-repentance effect  at  the  end.  Not  otherwise  are 
reformed  the  fascinating  villains  of  the  Adelphl. 
The  Pillars  of  Society  is  a  melodrama  of  the 
morals. 

In^  Doll's  House,  Ibsen  first  definitively  sounded 
trumpet-call  of  woman's  freedom.  This  Is  his 
first  drama  wholly  modern  In  tendency.  The  de- 
nouement Is  so  startling,  so  tremendous,  so  anti- 
social that  when  Francisque  Sarcey  first  saw  It  In 
Paris,  he  threw  up  his  hands  In  horror,  declaring 
that  he  didn't  understand  a  word  of  It.  Here,  in 
advanced  maturity  of  technique,  we  behold  the 
struggle  of  the  modern  woman  against  the  vitiating 
influence  of  her  environment,  her  heredity,  and  the 
social  conventions  which  retard  her  development  as 
an  individual  and  as  a  human  being. 

The  story  Is  so  familiar  that  It  needs  no  recital 
here.     The  real  significance  of  the  play  consists  as 


HENRIK  IBSEN  123 

much  In  Ibsen's  attitude  towards  the  "  Woman 
Question  "  as  in  Nora's  method  of  solution.  Ibsen 
entered  the  lists  as  woman's  champion,  not  in  a 
partisan  spirit,  but  because  he  realized  that  the  cause 
of  woman  was  the  cause  of  humanity.  It  was  an 
evolutionary  growth  of  his  spirit  from  the  days 
when  he  tragically  pictured  woman  as  under  the 
necessity  of  self-sacrifice  and  service  for  others. 
The  **  Woman  Question,"  with  Ibsen,  was  not  a 
mere  question  of  the  vote  —  he  wished  women  to 
secure  such  representation  whenever  her  talents  and 
sense  of  responsibility  entitled  her  thereto.  But  to 
Ibsen,  the  "  Woman  Question  "  meant  primarily  the 
question  as  to  the  position  of  woman  In  marriage  — 
as  exemplified  in  A  DolVs  House,  Ghosts  and  The 
Wild  Duck,  Even  in  the  preliminary  draft  for  A 
DolVs  House,  Nora  observes  that  the  laws  are  made 
by  man,  and  that  contemporary  society  means  a  so- 
ciety for  men,  not  a  society  for  human  beings.  It 
is  a  mark  of  Ibsen's  human  insight,  as  well  as  of  his 
artistic  detachment,  that,  in  Nora,  he  reveals  the 
New  Woman  still  deeply  rooted  in  the  old  Eve. 
She  still  employs  all  the  arts  of  cajolery,  o_LjEa£- 
wardness,  of  j)ersonal^fascinatIon  for  seniiung  her 
owtLxmk-  And  yet,  even  in  the  midst  of  that  mad, 
despairing  tarantella,  we  know  that  the  old  Eve  is 
about  to  tear  away  the  mask  which  conceals  the  mod- 
ern woman.  From  Schopenhauer,  Ibsen  passed  un- 
der the  influence  of  the  evolutionary  theories  of 


\ 


124         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Darwin  and  Spencer.  In  A  Doll's  House,  Nora 
furnishes  a  striking  Illustration  of  the  Inheritance 
of  characteristics;  and  we  feel  very  strongly" 
that,  in  another  environment,  Krogstad  might  have 
been  an  honorable  citizen  of  society.  From  the 
tragic  spectacle  of  Dr.  Rank,  Nora  first  grasps  the 
principle  of  hereditary  responsibility;  and  her  spir- 
itual development  springs  from  the  fixed  conviction 
that  she  can  become  responsible  for  the  welfare 
of  her  children  only  by  gaining  responsibility  for 
herself  and  acquiring  knowledge  of  society  through 
contact  with  the  great  world.  Environment,  the 
treatment  she  has  received  from  her  father  and  her 
husband,  has  cultivated  In  her  all  the  weaker  and 
none  of  the  stronger  elements  of  her  nature.  She 
realizes,  in  Ibsen's  own  words,  that  everyone  "  shares 
the  responsibility  and  guilt  of  the  society  to  which 
he  (or  she!)  belongs." 

The  continuity  of  Ibsen's  development  Is   strik- 
ingly    revealed     In     one     artistic     quality.     Later 
entire  dramas  are  foreshadowed  in  single  charac- 
ters and  episodes  of  some  preceding  play.     JohH^ 
Gabriel  Borkman  is  prefigured  in  Consul  Bernickj^ 
the  auxiliary  figure  of  Elllda  Wangel  in  The  Lady 
From  the  Sea  becomes  the  heroine  of  The  Master-^ 
Builder;  the  tragic  figure  of  Dr.  Rank  as  the  victim 
of  parental  incontinence  becomes  the  more  poignaritI)r 
tragic  figure  of  Oswald  Alving  in  Ghosts.     Society 
held   up   its   hands   in   holy   horror   because   Nora 


HENRIK  IBSEN  125 

abandoned  her  children  rather  than  surrender  her 
individualit}^ ;  but  Instead  of  shaking,  this  only  con- 
firmed^bsen  in  his  conviction  that  "  the  time  had 
come  for  some  boundary  posts  to  be  removed."  In 
Ghosts,  Ibsen  gives  his  terrible  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion: "Do  the  children  really  benefit  by  the 
mother's  surrender  in  living  a  lie  in  marriage?" 
The  conditions  of  Nora  Helmer  and  Helen  Alving 
are  by  no  means  identical;  nor  were  any  such  disas- 
trous consequences  prophesied  for  the  children  of 
the  morally  upright  Helmer  as  fell  to  the  lot  of  the 
son  of  the  dissolute  Chamberlain  Alving.  Nor  is 
it  at  all  clear  that  Helen  Alving  was  acting  with 
poise  and  entire  sanity  in  throwing  herself  at  the 
head  of  Pastor  Manders.  But  it  is  perfectly  clear 
that  Helen  Alving,  by  remaining  in  the  hideous 
bonds  of  a  bargain-and-sale  marriage  forced  upon 
her  by  the  pressure  of  her  mother,  her  two  aunts 
and  her  minister,  committed  a  great  wrong.  And 
her  final  revolt  was  so  subversive,  so  wide  a  swing 
of  the  pendulum  from  the  mark  of  sanity,  as  to 
accentuate  her  feminine  extravagance  to  the  detri- 
ment of  the  purposed  import  of  the  play. 

Ghosts  aroused  a  tornado  of  abuse  unequalled, 
it  may  be,  in  the  history  of  the  drama.  Even  to- 
day this  play  is  forbidden  production  in  Great 
Britain;  and  the  King's  Reader  of  Plays,  before  a 
Parliamentary  Commission,  recently  expressed  the 
conviction  that  it  would  never  be  allowed  produc- 


126  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tion  in  Great  Britain.  It  is  generally  conceded  to 
be  the  strongest,  most  terrible  play  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  In  1898,  Otto  Brahm,  the  distinguished 
German  critic,  wrote :  "  The  gates  to  the  most  mod- 
ern German  drama  were  opened  when  Ghosts  first 
appeared  on  a  German  stage."  William  Archer 
termed  Ghosts  the  harbinger  of  the  whole  dramatic 
movement  in  Europe,  and  Georg  Brandes  said  that 
it  was,  if  not  the  greatest  achievement,  at  any  rate 
the  noblest  action  of  the  poet's  career.  In  it,  Ibsen 
finally  concretizes  his  faith  In  the  human  being's 
right  to  happiness.  Its  basis  Is  found,  not  in  Kirke- 
gaard,  Schopenhauer  or  any  European  thinker,  but 
in  John  Stuart  Mill  who.  In  his  Utilitarianism 
(translated  into  Danish  by  Georg  Brandes  In  1872), 
posits  "  an  existence,  possibly  free  from  sorrow  and 
possibly  rich  in  joy,  in  quality  as  well  as  In  quantity." 
To  Mill  Is  doubtless  attributable  Ibsen's  dramatic 
formulation  of  man's  right  to  happiness.  In  dra- 
matic technique.  Ghosts  is  superb  —  the  retrospec- 
tive method  of  Greek  tragedy  brought  to  perfection. 
A  performance  I  once  witnessed  In  Chrlstiania,  by 
a  notable  cast,  left  a  most  profound  impression  upon 
me;  and  yet  the  most  significant  features  of  the  play 
as  then  presented  were  its  marked  provincialism 
in  that  peculiarly  local  setting,  and  the  interpreta- 
tion. In  Manders,  of  the  normal  Norwegian  parson 
of  half  a  century  or  more  ago  as  an  incredibly  snivel- 
ling and  contemptible  hypocrite.     One  of  the  most 


HENRIK  IBSEN  127 

profoundly  moving  exhibitions  of  human  emotion  I 
can  conceive  of  was  given  in  the  Interpretation  of 
Helen  Alving,  not  by  Ola  Hansson,  but  by  Miss 
Mary  Shaw.  In  Ghosts^  Ibsen  gives  enduring 
dramatic  exemplification  to  the  memorable  words  of 
Maurice  Maeterlinck:  *' We  know  that  the  dead 
do  not  die.  We  know  that  It  Is  not  in  our  churches 
they  are  to  be  found,  but  In  the  houses,  the  habits  of 
us  all." 

When  Ghosts  awoke  In  Norway  a  positive  howl 
of  execration  that  resounded  throughout  Europe, 
Ibsen  could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  He  had 
come  to  the  limit  of  his  endurance  of  the  obloquy 
that  had  been  heaped  upon  him  ever  since  the  days 
of  The  Comedy  of  Love.  His  conception  of  the 
function  of  the  dramatist  had  gradually  enlarged; 
he  now  unfalteringly  assumed  responsibility  for  the 
morals  of  others.  Hitherto,  with  solemn  periodic- 
ity, Ibsen's  plays  had  followed  each  other  at  Inter- 
vals of  two  years.  An  Enemy  of  the  People  was  — '^>^ 
conceived  and  executed  with  passionate  haste  in  the 
spring  and  summer  months  of  1882.  This  gay,  yet 
intense  play,  so  humorous  and  yet  so  trenchant.  Is 
devoid  of  all  genuine  "  love-interest  ";  it  Is  Ibsen's 
most  polemic  play. 

The  impulsive,  choleric  Dr.  Stockmann  discovers 
that  the  baths  of  his  native  town,  a  celebrated  health 
resort,  are  contaminated.  Instead  of  possessing 
healing  and  life-giving  properties,  In  reality  the  min- 


H>" 


128  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

cral  water  spreads  contagion  and  disease.  Scorn- 
fully disregarding  the  fact  that  the  baths  are  the 
greatest  source  of  revenue  for  the  town,  Stockmann 
exposes  to  the  leaders  of  the  community  his  discov- 
ery of  the  crime  they  are  committing  against  so- 
ciety. But  the  most  valued  possession  of  the  pillars 
of  society  hangs  In  the  balance :  their  "  graft "  will 
dwindle  to  nothing,  If  they  are  forced  to  vast  ex- 
penditure for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  and  oblit- 
erating the  source  of  contamination.  With  sublime 
effrontery,  characteristic  of  a  Tweed  or  a  Ruef,  the 
owners  of  the  baths  disregard  Stockmann's  revela- 
tions; and  through  clever  but  specious  arguments, 
they  secure  the  support  of  the  majority  of  the  com- 
munity. "  It  will  disturb  business  '*  and  "  threaten 
prosperity " —  ah,  what  familiar  words  here  In 
America !  Then  only  does  Stockmann  awake  to  a 
realization  that,  not  merely  are  the  baths  con- 
taminated, but  the  very  well-springs  of  the  society  In 
which  he  lives  are  poisoned  at  their  sources.  This 
e  bravely  and  defiantly  proclaims  with  all  the  force 
of  a  scientific  muck-raker  at  a  tremendous  mass- 
meeting.  He  Is  declared  an  enemy  of  the  people, 
ostracized,  stoned. 

An  Enemy  of  the  People  is  Ibsen's  dramatic  incar- 
nation of  his  gradually  matured  theory  that  the  mi- 
nority Is  always  right.     He  had  a  firm  faith"  TnTtTiaT 
"  saving  remnant,"  the  minority;  he  rested  his  hope, 
as  he  said,  upon  the  "  minority  which  leads  the  van 


HENRIK  IBSEN  129 

and  pushes  on  to  points  which  the  majority  has  not 
yet  reached."  It  Is  not  Public  Opinion,  the  Ma- 
jority, which  improves  the  prevailing  order  of  the 
world,  but 

"  Tall  men,  sun-crowned,  who  live  above  the  fog, 
In  public  duty  and  in  private  thinking." 

Ibsen  regarded  himself  as  a  "  solitary  franc-tireur 
at  the  outposts";  and  he  wrote  to  Brandes  from 
Rome  on  January  3,  1882:  "I  receive  more  and 
more  corroboration  of  my  conviction  that  there  is 
something  demoralizing  in  engaging  in  politics  and 
in  joining  parties.  It  will  never,  In  my  case,  be  pos- 
sible for  me  to  join  a  party  that  has  the  majority  on 
its  side.  Bjornson  says:  *  The  majority  is  always 
right.'  And  as  a  practical  politician  he  is  bound,  I 
suppose,  to  say  so.  I,  on  the  contrary,  must  of  ne- 
cessity say:     *  The  minority  Is  always  right'  " 

Strangely  enough,  Ibsen  has  confessed  that  Bjorn- 
son, as  well  as  Jonas  Lie,  was  In  his  mind  when  he 
drew  the  picture  of  the  bluff,  spontaneous,  genial 
Stockmann.  Ibsen  confessed  to  Hegel  that  he  got 
along  famously  with  Stockmann :  "  We  agree  on  so 
many  subjects.  But  the  doctor  is  a  more  muddle- 
headed  person  that  I  am."  He  may  even  have  had 
Brandes  in  mind,  at  times.  But  It  has  recently  come 
to  light  that  the  most  obvious  model  for  Stockmann 
was  Harold  Thaulow,  the  father  of  the  painter  and 
the  cousin  of  Henrik  Wergeland.     He  was  by  na- 


I30  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ture  an  agitator,  a  reformer,  who  deeply  loved  his 
people  and  yet  was  continually  in  hot  water  through 
his  effort  to  reform  them.  Only  two  weeks  before 
his  death,  at  the  General  Assembly  of  February  23, 
188 1,  he  made  a  violent  attack  upon  the  society 
known  as  "  Dampf-Kiiche."  He  declared  that  there 
was  no  greater  humbug  in  Christiania  than  this  so- 
ciety, and  continued  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
in  this  strain.  The  colloquy  which  ensued,  repro- 
duced in  the  Aftenpost,  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  Ibsen's 
source  for  the  leading  feature  of  An  Enemy  of  the 
People. 

Thaulow:  I  won't  permit  my  mouth  to  be  shut  (con- 
tinues his  address). 

Consul  Heftye:     Herr  Thaulow  must  stop! 

Thaulow  (reads  on).  Some  express  their  disapproval 
by  ostentatiously  walking  around  the  hall. 

The  president  asks  the  assembly  whether  it  recognizes  his 
right  to  refuse  Herr  Thaulow  the  floor.  Unanimous  as- 
sent. 

The  president  again  requests  Herr  Thaulow  to  desist. 

Thaulow:     I  won't  permit  my  mouth  to  be  shut. 

President:  Then  we  will  proceed  with  the  order  of  the 
day  — 

Thaulow:     I  will  cut  It  very  short  (reads  on). 

Heftye:     May  he  read  on? 

Thaulow  (continues)  :  "  The  splendid  result  of  the 
Christiania  *  Dampf-Kiiche '  .  .  ."     I'm  almost  through  — 

Heftye:  At  this  rate  the  General  Assembly  will  go  to 
pieces. 


HENRIK  IBSEN  131 

President:  I  am  sorry  I  have  to  Interrupt  Herr  Thau- 
low.     You  mustn't  speak  — 

Thaulow  reads  on. 

Heftye :     Stop  —  or  you  must  leave  the  hall. 

Thaulow:  Just  one  word  more  (sinks  exhausted  into  a 
chair). 

The  president  now  proceeds  with  the  reading  of  the 
official  report. 

Thaulow  listens  grumblingly  to  the  report,  and  several 
times  makes  an  effort  to  gain  a  hearing. 

When  the  opposition  became  too  strong,  he  finally 
gave  up  the  struggle  and  went  away  with  the  words: 
"  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you.  I  am 
tired  of  casting  pearls  before  swine.  This  Is  in- 
fernal misuse  among  a  free  people  In  a  free  society. 
Well  —  my  respects  to  you  —  go  on,  then,  to  your 
family  meal !  " 

The  Wild  Duck  Is  Ibsen's  first  step  along  a  new     ^ 
path.     This  Is  true  In  a  double  sense.     Heretofore, 
Ibsen  has  been  giving  very  positive,   very  defiant  n< 
solutions  to  the  questions  he  himself  has  posed.     In 
many  cases,  he  even  goes  so  far  as  to  formulate  his 
solution  of  the  dramatic  complex  In  a  single  mo- 
mentous  action  or   even  In  a  memorable,   solitary 
phrase.      The  Wild  Duck  first  fully  justifies  Ibsen's, 
statement  that  his  vocation  was  to  question  rather, 
than  to  answer.     No  one  was  so  sure  of  this  as 


^^2  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Ibsen  himself;  he  said  that,  to  all,  this  play  offerei 
"  problems  worth  the  solving."  Moreover,  Its  point 
of  departure,  In  another  striking  phase,  Is  pro- 
claimed by  Ibsen  In  the  words :  "  This  new  play 
In  some  ways  occupies  a  place  apart  among  my  pro- 
ductions; Its  method  of  development  Is  In  many  re- 
spects divergent  from  that  of  Its  predecessors."  To 
Mr.  Archer,  The  Wild  Duck  Is  a  consummation 
rather  than  a  new  departure.  A  strange  judgment, 
In  view  not  only  of  Ibsen's  own  words,  but  also  In 
view  of  the  patent  fact  that  here,  for  the  first  time, 
Ibsen  sets  his  foot  In  the  alien  path  of  symbolism, — 
that  symbolism  so  strangely  Interwoven  In  Rosmers- 
holm,  so  mystic  In  Little  Eyolf,  so  magically  potent 
in  The  Lady  From  the  Sea!  The  disquieting  figure 
of  the  wounded  wild  duck,  suggested  to  Ibsen  as  a 
dramatic  symbol  by  Welhaven's  beautiful  poem  The 
Sea  Bird,  flutters  mysteriously  through  this  disturb- 
ing play  —  symbolizing  now  the  wounded  soul  of 
Werle,  now  the  "  evil  genius  of  the  house  "  (baldly 
stated  In  the  "  forework  "),  now  the  symbolic  adum- 
bration of  the  fateful  secret  of  Hedwig's  parentage 
bequeathed  by  the  old  Werle  to  the  Ekdal  family. 

It  Is  usual  for  critics  to  find  In  The  Wild  Duck 
an  expression  of  Ibsen's  dark  pessimism,  distrust 
in  his  mission.  Incipient  disbelief  In  "  the  claim  of 
the  Ideal."  It  Is  Interpreted  as  a  reaction  against 
the  dogmatic  "  All  or  Nothing  ^*  of  Brand,  against 


HENRIK  IBSEN  133 

Stodanann^s_cocksurcness  In  the  virtue  of  his  mis- 
sion in  An  Enemy  of  the  People,  In  The  Wild 
Duck,  does  Ibsen  merely  question  whether  "  the 
bitter  tonic-draught  of  truth ''  is  the  fundamental 
pre-requisite  for  the  happiness  and  well-being  of  hu- 
manity, as  it  now  is,  or  even  as  it  may  be  for 
Heaven  knows  how  long  yet  to  come  ?  This  seems 
to  me  to  be  a  superficial  judgment.  The  real  prob- 
lem around  which  Ibsen's  mind  continually  hovered 
was  the  problem,  for  the  individual,  of  discovering 
himself  in  life.  In  the  very  year  In  which  he  wrote 
The  Wild  Duck,  Ibsen  spoke,  not  once,  but  twice,  in 
letters,  of  "  the  duty  and  the  right,  of  realizing  one's 
self."  Self-realization,  In  Its  amplest  sense,  for  Ib- 
sen, means  not  only  the  discovery  of  one's  mission, 
but  also  the  discovery  of  the  great  meaning,  the 
great  happiness  even,  that  life  holds  for  the  individ- 
ual soul.  The  Wild  Duck  Is  a  dark  and  Ironic  com- 
mentary upon  the  wrong-headed  reformer,  who 
would  turn  the  world  upside  down  in  a  mad  and 
meddlesome  effort  to  realize  his  own  extravagant 
Ideals.  This  play  Is  as  little  a  reduction  ad  ahsur- 
dum  of  Ibsen's  own  doctrine  and  Ideal  of  the  ef- 
ficacy of  truth  as  How  He  Lied  to  Her  Husband 
is  a  caricature  of  Candida.  In  Hjalmar  Ekdal's 
attitude  towards  Gina  is  satirized  the  absolute  moral 
demand  of  Svava  Riis  in  Bjornson's  A  Glove  (Sep- 
tember, 1883),  as  Ellas  and  Koht  have  pointed  out. 


134  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

And  In  Gregers  Werle  is  mordantly  satirized  that 
*'  untutored  Idealism  " —  of  which  we  have  recently 
heard  so  much  In  America. 

Gregers  Werle  Is  In  pursuit  of  Illusions.  He  is 
that  '*  sick  conscience  '*  which  subsequently  found 
such  memorable  Incarnation  In  Halvard  Solness. 
He  Is  the  Inevitable  product  of  his  own  environment 
and  his  own  heredity.  In  his  reaction  against  the 
Life  Lie  of  his  own  father,  he  absorbs  the  idee  fixe 
of  a  mother  rendered  morbid  and  hysterical  by  her  i 
own  domestic  tragedy.  With  a  grotesque  mania  for  I 
hero-worship  and  a  ludicrous  misapprehension  of  the 
moral  bankruptcy  of  Hjalmar  Ekdal,  Gregers  Werle 
flourishes  aloft  the  banner  of  the  Ideal  and  revels  in 
bearing  heedless  witness  to  the  truth.  In  his  mis- 
guided efforts  to  force  upon  weaker  vessels,  made  of 
common  clay,  that  which  they  are  unable  to  hold,  he 
succeeds  only  in  shattering  them  Into  fragments. 
His  passion  for  communicating  to  others  his  **  fever 
for  doing  right "  leaves  disaster  and  death  In  his 
wake.  "  Oh,  life  would  be  quite  tolerable,  after 
all,"  says  Relling  —  the  real  Ibsen  speaking,  un- 
doubtedly in  propria  persona  —  "  If  only  we  could 
be  rid  of  the  confounded  duns  that  keep  on  pestering 
us,  In  our  poverty,  with  the  claim  of  the  Ideal." 

Nowhere  has  Ibsen's  power  of  minute  and  vera- 
cious characterization  showed  itself  so  supreme. 
Gregers  Werle  Is  the  classic  embodiment  of  the  mis- 
guided reformer.     Hjalmar  Ekdal  Is  Ibsen's  most 


HENRIK  IBSEN  135 

striking  embodiment  of  the  pitiable  moral  bankrupt, 
self-deceiving^  self-deceived  —  grotesquely  failing  to 
live  up  to  standards  inconsiderately  applied  from 
without.  He  is  the  tragic  figure  of  the  average 
sensual  man,  betrayed  by  ideals  he  has  not  really 
made  his  own  —  feeding  upon  his  illusions,  those 
illusions  by  which  his  very  peace  of  mind,  his  happi- 
ness, are  conditioned.  Gina  Ekdal,  without  any 
ideals  save  the  eminently  materialistic,  eminently 
prosaic  desire  to  preserve  the  comfortable  status 
quo,  is  irresistibly  natural  and  likable  —  perhaps  be- 
cause she  Is  so  utterly  of  the  earth  earthy.  The 
gentle  Hedwig,  tender,  appealing,  young  enough  to 
make  a  hero  of  her  selfish  father,  too  young  to  detect 
his  glaring  faults,  Is  Ibsen's  most  poetic  feminine 
figure.  Bjornson  acknowledged,  after  learning  to 
know  Ibsen's  sister  Hedwig,  who  served  as  the  model 
for  the  Hedwig  of  the  play,  that  he  at  last  under- 
stood what  a  debt  Ibsen's  bent  towards  mysticism 
owed  to  heredity.  The  Wild  Duck  has  been  re-, 
garded  as  a  perfect  example  of  Ibsen's  individual 
technique.  But  Its  most  lamentable  technical  fault 
has  been  succinctly  pointed  out  by  Bernard  Shaw: 
"  The  logic  by  which  Gregers  Werle  persuades 
Hedwig  to  kill  the  wild  duck  In  order  that  she  may 
be  provided  with  a  pistol  to  kill  herself,  strains  my 
credulity." 

From  this  time  forward,   Ibsen's  plays  concern 
themselves  less  and  less  with  society,  more  and  more  i 


136  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

with  Individual  problems  of  character  and  con-  » 
science.  Just  as  The  Wild  Duck  marks  the  transi-  ' 
tion  from  realism  to  symbolism,  so  Rosmersholm 
marks  the  transition  from  society  to  the  Individual.  I 
After  this  point,  Ibsen's  dramas  are  no  longer  socio- 
logical. They  are  psychological,  and  at  times  psy- 
ehicy:: -concern  themselves  with  the  Inner  life  of 
thought  and  conscience,  and  verge  ever  towards  sym- 
bollclsm,  mysticism  and  poetry.  It  Is  mediately  true 
that  we  find  the  sociological  Ibsen  in  Bernard  Shaw, 
the  symbolical  Ibsen  In  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  the 
psychological  Ibsen  In  Gerhart  Hauptmann.  Many 
years  ago,  Georg  Brandes  declared  that  at  one 
period  of  his  career,  Ibsen  had  had  a  lyric  Pegasus 
killed  under  him.  After  reading  The  Lady  From 
the  Sea,  The  Master-Builder  and  JVhen  We  Dead 
Amaken,  we  realize  that  Brandes  saw  no  further 
than  the  present.  Wounded  and  dormant  lay  the 
winged  steed  through  the  middle  years;  but  In  time 
Its  strength  returned,  Its  pinions  were  once  more 
unfurled,  and  It  bore  its  rider  over  the  lower  slopes 
of  later  life. 

'i'ln  The  Wild  Duck  Ibsen  reaches  the  _extreme^ 
p^nt  of  his  realism. .  Here  he  brings  us  face  to  face 
with  '^  cheap,  earthenware  souls";  here  he  paints, 
In  gaflsh  colors,  the  unromantic  hero  —  that  ludi- 
crous contradiction  in  terms.  At  last  we  have  the 
true  bourgeois  drama,  dealing  with  the  thoughts  and 
passions,   the   loves   and   hates,    the   comedies   and 


HENRIK  IBSEN  137 

tragedies,  of  people  such  as  we  brush  against  every- 
day In  the  street.  The  protagonist  of  to-day  has 
"  lost  the  last  gleam  from  the  sunset  of  the  heroes." 
Here  is  the  hero  manque,  struggling  In  vain  against 
the  overwhelming  pressure  of  environment,  the 
brand  of  heredity,  the  coll  of  circumstance,  the 
chains  of  character,  the  damning  verdict  of  self- 
mockery,  self-distrust,  and  self-contempt.  In  Ros^ 
mersholm,  the  leading  characters  lose  none  of  their 
absorbing  Interest  because  one  Is  a  pseudo-reformer, 
weak-kneed  If  high-minded,  and  the  other  a  crim- 
inal adventuress.  This  play  brings  Ibsen  Into  juxta- 
position with  Nietzsche;  for  the  real  drama  takes 
place  in  a  spiritual  region  of  quasi-ethical  conscious- 
ness beyond  good  and  evil. 

"  The  call  to  work,"  wrote  Ibsen  on  February  13, 
1887,  "Is  certainly  distinguishable  throughout  Ros- 
mersholm.  But  the  play  also  deals  with  the  strug- 
gle with  himself  which  every  serious-minded  man 
must  face  in  order  to  bring  his  life  into  harmony 
with  his  convictions.  For  the  different  spiritual 
functions  do  not  develop  evenly  and  side  by  side  in 
any  human  being.  The  acquisitive  Instinct  hastens 
on  from  conquest  to  conquest.  The  moral  con- 
sciousness, the  conscience,  on  the  other  hand,  Is  very 
conservative.  It  has  deep  roots  and  traditions  in 
the  past  generally.  Hence  arises  the  conflict  in  the 
individual.  But  first  and  foremost,  of  course,  the 
play  is  a  creative  work,  dealing  with  human  beings 


138  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

and  human  destinies."  In  this  succinct  exposition, 
Ibsen,  as  it  were,  disengages  the  various  leading  mo- 
tives; from  it,  we  may  learn  the  motive  forces  of  the 
action  of  the  play.  The  call  to  work  is  less  generally 
human  than  specially  local:  it  refers  more  distinctly 
to  the  situation  in  Norway.  The  secondary  motive 
constitutes  the  play's  inner  meaning:  the  struggle  to 
bring  one's  life  into  conformity  with  one's  ideals  — 
the  old  Ibsen  strugle  for  self-realization.  And 
fundamentally,  the  play  does  not  so  much  point  a 
conclusive  moral,  as  exhibit  a  drama  of  the  struggle 
of  human  souls,  a  picture  of  fainting  and  aspiring 
humanity. 

Johannes  Rosmer  is  a  far  more  impressive  victim 
of  heredity,  in  his  "  tender-minded "  conscience 
which,  even  in  an  atmosphere  of  pure  scepticism, 
looks  back  to  the  revengeful  standards  of  an  Old 
Testament  God,  than  ever  was  Oswald  Alving  with 
his  tainted  body.  He  has  read  John  Stuart  Mill; 
and,  like  Mill,  has  written  (see  the  "  forework  ")  a 
book  in  which  he  proclaims  happiness  as  the  goal  of 
existence.  And  yet  he  has  not  made  the  thoughts 
and  ideas  of  the  new  time  his  own;  they  have  laid 
their  hold  on  him,  less  by  virtue  of  their  own  inher- 
ent logic  and  efficacy,  than  by  reason  of  the  influ- 
ence of  Rebekka  West's  artful  insinuations.  What 
these  thoughts  and  ideas  are,  other  than  those  of 
Mill,  it  is  difficult  to  say;  but  certain  it  is,  from  the 
evidence   of   the   preliminary    draft,    that    Rosmer 


HENRIK  IBSEN  139 

and  Rebekka  had  been  reading  together  Henry 
George's  Progress  and  Poverty  (1880)  which  ap- 
peared in  a  Norwegian  translation  in  1 885-1 886 
under  the  title  Fremskridt  og  fattigdom,  Paul  Ree's 
book  on  the  genesis  of  conscience  (1885)  must  have 
been  read  by  Ibsen  during  the  progress  of  Rosmers- 
holm;  Rosmer  carries  too  many  traits  accentuated 
by  Ree.  The  tender-minded  Rosmer  must  have 
been  drawn  In  the  light  of  Ree's  theorem:  *'  Anyone 
who,  from  his  youth  up,  has  been  thoroughly  ac- 
customed to  the  thought  that  there  Is  a  God  and 
that  It  Is  sinful  to  say:  'The  conception  of  God 
Is  absurd,'  will  In  later  life,  even  after  his  belief  has 
turned  to  unbelief,  seldom  mention  the  fact  and  then 
only  with  reluctance  and  distaste." 

In  Rosmersholm,  Ibsen  has  penetrated  more 
deeply  Into  the  soil  of  human  conscience  than  in  any 
other  of  his  works.  He  knows  each  one  of  his 
characters  down  to  the  last  convolution  of  the  brain, 
down  to  the  ultimate  fold  of  the  soul.  Rebekka 
West  Is  Ibsen's  most  Intense  female  figure  —  alike  In 
the  clarity  of  her  vision,  the  scope  of  her  purpose, 
and  the  development  of  her  character.  She  stands 
under  the  curse  of  the  past  —  the  past  which  the 
*'  white  horse  "  of  Rosmersholm  mysteriously  sym- 
bolizes. She  scornfully  holds  herself  superior  to  the 
obligations  of  conscience;  and  even  in  the  end,  we 
feel  that  her  spirit,  not  her  conviction.  Is  broken. 
She  wields  every  weapon  of  Intrigue,  artifice  and 


140  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

cunning  to  accomplish  her  purpose,  all  under  the 
specious  guise  of  a  champion  of  freedom  —  the  free- 
dom of  truth;  and  yet,  at  last,  she  goes  to  her  doom 
because  she  feels  that  such  freedom  can  only  be 
attained  by  one  whose  soul  is  pure.  She  is  a  radical 
broken  upon  the  wheel  of  Rosmer's  conservatism. 

^Fantasy  plays  Its  part  in  this  drama  of  the  in- 
terior life ;  and  Ulrlk  Brendel  belongs  in  the  category 
of  the  "  Rat  Wife  ''  in  Little  Eyolf  and  ''  the  Stran-     ' 
ger  "  in  The  Lady  From  the  Sea.     He  speaks  with 
veiled  wisdom  in  the  language  of  a  visitant  from  a 
fantastic,  supersensible  world  —  the  Ibsen  chorus  in 
full   swing.     To   those  living  in   a   country  where 
wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay,  where  fortune 
and  fame  seem  in  themselves  to  be  the  sole  aim  of 
existence,  the  words  of  Brendel  come  with  poignant 
significance:     "Peter  Mortensgaard  has  the  secret 
of  omnipotence.     He  can  do  whatever  he  will.     FofM 
Peter  Mortensgaard  never  wills  more  than  he  can 
do.     Peter  Mortensgaard  is  capable  of  living  his 
life  without  ideals.     And  that,  do  you  see — .that  is 
just  the  mighty  secret  of  action  and  of  victory.     It 
is  the  sum  of  the  whole  world's  wisdom." 
/        If  Mr.  Courtney  is  correct  in  positing  the  failure 
\  to  achieve  one's  mission  on  earth  as  the  quintessence 
\of    contemporary    tragedy,    then    Rosmersholm    is 
j Ibsen's  most  tragic  drama.     It  prefigures  an  ideal; 
/and  conditions  its  attainment  upon  the  destruction 
\of  the  only  possible  means  thereto.     Nothing  short 


HENRIK  IBSEN  imi 

of  Rebekka's  sacrificial  death  can  revive  in  Rosmer 
his  lost  faith  in  the  possibility  of  ennobling  human- 
ity ;  and  this  sacrifice  destroys,  for  him,  the  possi- 
bility of  remaining  In  life  and  accomplishing  the 
work,  which  he  might  now  be  capable  oEiKiiPerplex- 
ing,  tragic  antinomy!  :    '     -^ 

The  Lady  From  the  Sea,  Ibsen's  most  genial  and 
charming  play,  embodies  the  spiritual  realization  of 
the  longings  and  ideals  for  which  Ibsen's  heroes  con- 
tinually struggle  —  that  '*  something  other  and 
greater  than  life  "  which  Is  at  stake.  It  Is  a  poem  In 
psychotherapeutics,  veiled  In  the  garb  of  mysticism. 
In  Haeckel's  Natiirltcher  Schopfiinggeschichte,  or 
perhaps  In  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man,  Ibsen  must 
have  read  of  that  fish-species,  the  A mphioxusLance^ 
olatus,  which  in  his  own  words  (In  the  **  forework") 
"  forms  the  primordial  link  In  the  evolutionary 
chain."  The  Lady  From  the  Sea  finds  Its  origin  in 
Ibsen's  perhaps  not  wholly  fantastic  supposition  that 
-rudiments  of  it  survive  In  human  beings,  or  at  least 
in  the  nature  of  some  of  us.  The  Importance  of 
this  origin  is  memorable.  The  Lady  From  the  Sea 
stems  from  Darwin  and  Haeckel.  And  this  fact 
lends  additional  weight  to  the  Ingenious  theory  of 
Jules  de  Gaultier  to  the  effect  that  Ibsen's  effort  Is 
to  reconcile  and  conciliate  the  two  biologlcai  hy- 
potheses: the  Invariability  of  species  and  the  muta- 
bility of  organic  forms.  Perhaps  the  reason  why 
Ibsen  Is  less  successful  in  bridging  the  chasm  be- 


142  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

twcen  the  outer  and  the  Inner  life  Is  because  his 
fundamental  standpoint  here  is  not  mystical,  but  bio- 
logical. Heretofore  Ibsen  has  shown  the  Individual 
chiefly  struggling  with  social  forces  and  moral  stand- 
ards which  prevail  in  the  world.  In  The  Lady 
From  the  Sea,  Elllda  Wangel  struggles  against  a 
force  of  Nature  which  has  its  rudiments  deep-seated 
in  her  own  nature.  "  The  sea  exercises  over  people 
the  power  of  a  mood,  which  works  like  a  will,"  says 
Ibsen  In  his  memoranda  for  this  play.  "  The  sea 
can  hypnotize.  Above  all.  Nature  can.  The  great 
mystery  is  man's  dependence  upon  the  *  will-less.*  " 
Herein  lies  the  explanation  of  Ellida's  strange  and 
dramatic  struggle. 

In  Rosmersholm,  Johannes  and  Rebekka  go  down 
together  in  death  because  they  have  been  unable  to 
reconcile  themselves  with  their  environment.  The 
Lady  From  the  Sea  has  an  enfranchising,  sublimat- 
ing quality  —  showing  the  other  side,  the  happy  side, 
of  the  recurring  problem  of  self-realization  —  Elli- 
da's  ultimate  reconcilement  with  her  environment. 
In  the  preliminary  draft,  Wangel  is  an  attorn ey-at- 
law;  what  a  wonderfully  dramatic  heightening  of 
the  effect  Ibsen  achieves  by  making  him  a  physician 
in  the  final  form  of  the  play!  Wangel  may  be  a 
comparatively  unskilled  physician  of  the  body; 
but  he  is  an  incomparable  physician  of  the  soul. 
Through  his  selfless  adoration  for  his  wife,  he 
achieves  that  "  miracle  of  manly  love  "  for  which 


HENRIK  IBSEN  143 

Nora  Helmer  longed  In  vain.  His  love  for  EUIda 
teaches  him  the  secret  of  alienism :  that  yielding  alone 
can  help  the  sick  soul.  He  employs  the  familiar 
experiment:  humoring  the  patient's  fancies,  and 
thereby  lightening  the  forces  of  the  past  and  of  na- 
ture which  become  a  positive  obsession  of  the  un- 
known. 

The  problem  lies  deeper  than  this.  Nature  has 
its  roots  deeper  than  this:  morality  has  behind  it 
natural  claims  which  transcend  it.  In  a  curious  note 
Ibsen  once  made  on  a  loose  sheet  of  paper,  he  pre- 
figures the  real  solution  for  Elllda's  psychiatric  ob- 
session :  "  Freedom  consists  in  securing  to  the  indi- 
vidual the  right  to  free  himself  —  each  according  to 
his  own  particular  need.*'  The  dramatic  climax  of 
the  third  act  is  complete  and  convincing,  when  Ellida 
says  to  Wangel,  softly  —  and  trembling:  "Oh I 
Wangel  —  save  me  from  myself.''  Wangel  opens 
the  way  for  Elllda's  salvation  from  herself  by  can- 
celling the  law's  bargain.  He  secures  to  her  the 
inner,  spiritual  right  to  freedom  —  freedom  to  act 
upon  her  own  responsibility.  The  real  dramatic 
conflict  of  the  play  takes  on  a  schematic  cast;  and 
perhaps  it  Is  the  absence  of  any  resort  to  physical 
action,  In  order  to  accentuate  Ellida's  crucial  de- 
cision, which  weakens,  dramatically,  the  ultimate 
climax.  Even  Ibsen  found  it  difficult  to  vitalize  the 
victory  of  psychology  over  hypnosis  I 

The  Lady  From  the  Sea  is  Ibsen's  most  romantic, 


144  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

most  poetic  prose  drama.  Ellida  Is  a  mermaid  who 
defies  domestication,  symbolizing  and  catching  up 
within  herself  all  the  sheen,  vacillation  and  mys- 
tery of  the  wild,  restless  sea.  Ibsen's  symbolism  is 
essentially  romantic;  and  he  harks  back  to  the  mys- 
terious, nameless  lover,  beloved  of  romance  through- 
out the  history  of  art.  "  Nobody  should  know  what 
he  is,"  Ibsen  said  to  Hoffory  in  a  letter  recently  pub- 
lished ;  "  just  as  little  should  anybody  know  who  he 
is  or  what  he  is  really  called.  This  uncertainty  is 
just  the  chief  point  in  the  method  chosen  by  me 
for  the  occasion."  This  stranger,  about  whom  so 
much  romantic  uncertainty  hovers,  seems  to  be  the 
symbolic  object  of  woman's  longing  for  freedom, 
woman's  tremulous  and  fearful  passion  for  the  un- 
known. 

What  a  contrast  we  find  in  Hedda  Gahler!  Ib- 
sen turns  from  imaginative  poetry  to  irreducible 
fact,  from  mysticism  to  the  hard  coldness  of  elec- 
trically brilliant  realism.  In  The  Lady  From  the 
Sea,  Ibsen's  hand  falters  —  the  pronounced  subplots 
are  extraneous  and  subsidiary,  unmotived  by  vital 
relation  to  the  forward  movement  of  the  central 
action.  In  Hedda  Gahler,  Ibsen's  technical  virtu- 
osity once  more  shines  out  undimmed.  **  The  title 
of  the  play  is  Hedda  Gahler  (not  Testnan)^^^  Ibsen 
wrote  on  December  4,  1890.  "My  intention  in  giv- 
ing it  this  name  was  to  indicate  that  Hedda,  as  a 
personality.  Is  to  be  regarded  rather  as  her  father's 


I 


HENRIK  IBSEN  145 

daughter  than  as  her  husband's  wife.  It  was  not  my 
desire  to  deal  in  this  play  with  so-called  problems. 
What  I  principally  wanted  to  do  was  to  depict  hu- 
man beings,  human  emotions,  and  human  destinies, 
upon  a  groundwork  of  certain  of  the  social  condi- 
tions and  principles  of  the  present  day."  Hedda 
Gabler  is  not  a  problem  play:  it  is  a  portrait  play; 
the  full-length  portrait,  in  all  its  cold  fascination,  of 
the  most  repellently  attractive  woman  in  the  modem 
drama.  Bernard  Shaw  once  blithely  said  that  if 
people  knew  all  that  a  dramatist  thought,  they  would 
kill  him;  and  Ibsen,  like  Sargent,  always  means  in- 
finitely more  than  he  says.  "  These  are  no  mere 
portrait  busts  .  .  ."  says  Rubek  of  his  sculptures. 
*'  There  is  something  equivocal,  cryptic,  lurking  in 
and  behind  these  busts  —  a  secret  something  that  the 
people  themselves  cannot  see."  In  the  full-length 
statue  of  Hedda,  we  detect  that  "  something  equivo- 
cal, cryptic  "  lurking  behind  the  dimly  realized  like- 
ness to  a  vampire.  Hedda  is  the  horrifying  image 
of,  not  the  Ewig  Weibliche,  but  the  temporal 
womanly  —  which  drives  men  backward  and  down- 
ward. In  her  are  the  traits  of  the  treacherous 
Lorelei  painted  by  Heine  —  faithless,  inhuman, 
reptilian  —  luring  man  to  destruction  in  the  sea  of 
sensuality.  She  reminds  us  of  Philip  Burne-Jones*s 
picture  —  with  a  dash  of  Wedekind's  Erdgeist, 
And  yet  she  excites  our  mournful  pity,  if  only  we 
are  sufficiently  detached  to  reflect  that  Hedda,  like 


145         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Rank,  Oswald,  Hedwig  and  the  rest,  Is  a  victim 
of  heredity.  This  woman  who  stems  from  a  worn- 
out  race  Is  vastly  Interesting  as  a  problem  In  eugenics ; 
when  her  father  married,  he  was  already  a  man  old 
In  years  who  had  drained  to  the  dregs  the  cup  of 
sensual  pleasure.  "  Perhaps  that  has  left  Its  mark 
upon  me,"  says  Hedda  significantly, —  In  the  fore- 
work;  but  so  direct  an  allusion  Is  omitted  by  Ibsen 
in  the  final  draft.  She  gives  pointed  significance  to 
the  Biblical  aphorism :  "  The  fathers  have  eaten 
sour  grapes;  and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on 
edge."  The  apposlteness  of  the  phrase  Is  Immense: 
Hedda's  tastes  are  all  set  on  edge.  With  all  the 
gifts  that  life  can  give,  Hedda  is  the  Incarnation  of 
ennui.  Her  tragedy  Is  not  that  she  falls  to  achieve 
her  mission,  but  that  she  has  no  mission  to  achieve. 
From  the  little  model  of  Gossensass,  Emille  Bar- 
dach,  Ibsen  perhaps  learned  one  trait  for  Hedda: 
that  her  desire  to  win  the  adoration  of  others  Is  not 
for  the  sake  of  adoration,  but  for  the  thrill  which  the 
sense  of  possession  and  domination  over  others  awak- 
ens in  her.  The  other  characters  —  the  daemonic 
Lovborg,  self-pltying,  self-destroyed;  Tesman,  the 
quintessence  of  the  methodical  second-hand;  Thea, 
this  second  childish  Nora  whose  experiment  so  plte- 
ously  fails  —  all  dwindle  Into  insignificance  In  the 
face  of  the  characterless  personality  of  Hedda. 
With  intricately  lascivious  Instincts,  the  sensual  stig- 
mata of  a  degenerate  father,  Hedda  *'  hath  already 


HENRIK  IBSEN  147 

committed  adultery  in  her  heart."  But  the  fear  of 
the  world's  judgment  mocks  and  terrifies  her;  she 
lacks  the  courage  even  of  her  own  instincts.  The 
play  has  been  aptly  termed  the  picture  of  a  condition, 
not  an  action;  and  Ibsen  has  shown  the  utter  deprav- 
ity of  Hedda  by  laying  bare  her  distorted  soul  at  the 
very  moment  when  woman's  instincts  are  most  sa- 
cred —  in  the  face  of  coming  motherhood.  Flau- 
bert's words,  of  an  earlier  day,  give  a  final  judg- 
ment of  the  marvellous  art  of  Ibsen  as  displayed  in 
this  terrible  play :  "  The  author  in  his  work  must  be 
like  God  in  the  universe,  present  everywhere,  and 
visible  nowhere;  art  being  a  second  nature,  the 
creator  of  this  nature  must  act  by  an  analogous  pro- 
cedure ;  must  make  us  feel  in  all  the  atoms,  under  all 
aspects,  an  impassibility  secret,  infinite;  the  effect 
for  the  spectator  must  be  a  species  of  amazement. 
How  is  it  all  done?  one  must  ask,  and  one  feels 
shattered  without  knowing  why.  .  .  ." 

X 

"  You  are  essentially  right,"  wrote  Ibsen  to  Count 
Prozor  in  March,  1900,  "when  you  say  that  the 
series  which  closes  with  the  Epilogue  {When  We 
Dead  Awaken)  began  with  The  M aster-Builder ^ 
And  yet  it  must  be  realized  that  the  "  new  method," 
upon  which  Ibsen  relied  in  his  later  years,  really 
began  with  The  Lady  From  the  Sea;  and  it  is  in 
this  very  play  that  Ibsen's  master  hand  first  wavers. 


^ 


148  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Ibsen  seems  slowly  to  lose  his  powers  when  he  leaves 
the  domain  of  social  relationship,  and  enters  the 
untried  fields  of  hypnotism  and  supernatural  phe- 
nomena. And  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  The  M as- 
ter-Builder is,  of  all  Ibsen's  plays,  the  densest  in 
content,  the  one  most  provocative  to  a  rich  and  ever 
richer  measure  of  interpretation.  Goethe  once  said 
he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  the  more  "  incommen- 
surable "  a  work  of  art,  the  greater  it  is  likely  to 
prove.  Incommensurable  is  the  magic  word  for 
The  M aster-Builder.  If  the  meaning  of  Hamlet, 
Macbeth  or  Kin^  Lear  could  be  explained  in  a  few 
words,  it  is  reasonable  to  conclude  that  they  would 
not  rank  as  three  of  the  greatest  dramas  ever  writ- 
ten. In  them  are  magic  "  over-tones,'*  muted  har- 
monics, which  can  be  heard  only  by  ears  delicately 
attuned  to  their  music.  It  is  this  profound  and  elu- 
sive quality,  this  power  of  stimulating  the  far  reaches 
of  mentality  and  imagination,  which  informs  and  ir- 
radiates The  M aster-Builder.  No  one  will  ever  see 
down  all  the  dim  vistas  of  the  imagination  opened 
up  by  the  speculative  and  brooding  Hamlet,  the 
crime-obsessed  Macbeth,  the  palsied  prophet  of  a 
cosmic  ruin.  King  Lear,  and  the  tottering  idealist 
Solness,  sent  climbing  to  his  fall. 

The  M aster-Builder  reveals  Ibsen  hovering  fasci- 
nated around  the  problem  to  which  Nietzsche  de- 
voted his  life  —  a  problem  with  which  Ibsen  had 
occupied    himself    before,     and    independently    of 


HENRIK  IBSEN  149 

Nietzsche.     The    motto    of     The    M aster-Builder 
might  well  be  the  words  of  Browning: 

"  Ah,  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
Or  what's  a  heaven  for?  " 

And  yet  It  Is  no  heaven  for  which  Solness  longs, 
but  that  savage  mundane  time,  that  era  of  the 
"  roaming  blond  beast,"  when  man's  Instincts  shall 
be  given  feral  freedom.  He  aspires  to  live  in  the 
fierce  light  of  the  high  noon  of  egoism  —  the  day  of 
Zarathustra,  unbeclouded  by  the  restraints  of  con- 
science. JIlte_AIasjer'Builder  is  Ibsen's  true  tragedy  ^ 
of^dig^^Hty .conscien^^^^^^^^  Hilda,  naive,  fresh,  im- 
perious, is  Ibsen's  fascinating  projection  of  the  Super- 
woman  In  spirit:  a  keen-eyed  bird  of  prey,  like  a 
young  falcon  pouncing  upon  Its  marked-down  vic- 
tim. And  yet  in  the  end,  like  Rebekka,  her  preda- 
tory instinct  wavers  before  the  Imminent  sense  of 
moral  responsibility.  Solness,  like  Rosmer,  sets  too 
great  store  by  that  "  glad  guiltlessness  "  of  the  moral 
conservative,  ever  to  do  more  than  fail  nobly.  He 
believes,  this  mystic  epileptic,  that  some  people  are 
"elect";  that  a  certain  "grace"  is  vouchsafed  to 
them,  whereby  they  may,  by  concentrating  all  the 
forces  of  their  being  upon  the  desired  end,  succeed 
in  achieving  it.  Yet  one  cannot  accomplish  great 
things  alone:  one  must  call  to  his  aid  mysterious 
powers,  "  helpers  and  servers,"  from  the  very  depths  X 
of  his  being.     These  come  forth  and  subject  them- 


150  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

selves  to  the  master  will.  This  is  what  people  mean 
/  by  having  Luck.  And  yet,  this  master  over  the  des- 
tinies of  others,  finally,  tragically  fails;  for  he  is 
neither  master  of  himself  nor  free  from  the  dis- 
quieting pangs  of  a  sick  conscience.  "  Let  us  not 
invoke  the  illimitable  law  of  the  universe,  the  in- 
tentions of  history,  the  will  of  the  worlds,  the  justice 
of  the  stars,"  says  Maeterlinck  in  his  essay  on  Luck. 
"  These  powers  exist :  we  submit  to  them,  as  we 
submit  to  the  might  of  the  sun.  But  they  act  with- 
out knowing  us;  and  within  the  wide  circle  of  their 
influence  there  remains  to  us  still  a  liberty  that  is 
probably  immense.  They  have  better  work  on  hand 
than  to  be  forever  bending  over  us  to  lift  a  blade 
of  grass  or  drop  a  leaf  in  the  little  paths  of  our 
ant-hill.  Since  we  ourselves  are  here  the  persons 
concerned,  it  is,  I  imagine,  within  ourselves  that  the 
key  of  the  mystery  shall  be  found;  for  it  is  probable 
that  every  creature  carries  within  him  the  best  so- 
lution of  the  problem  that  he  presents." 

Ibsen's  last  three  dramas  exhibit  a  gradual  loosen- 
ing of  the  dramatist's  hold  upon  vitally  dramatic 
phases  of  human  existence.  Ibsen  recedes  farther 
and  farther  from  the  stage,  and  penetrates  ever 
deeper  into  spheres  of  moral  contemplation,  self- 
examination,  and  introspection  — "  wild  with  all  re- 
gret." Little  Eyolf  is  a  poignant  study  of  the  men- 
tal reactions  from  the  problem  of  moral  responsi- 
bility set  up  In  the  souls  of  a  husband  and  wife 


HENRIK  IBSEN  151 

through  the  neglect  and  loss  of  their  little  son,  and 
the  consequent  struggles  of  conscience.  With  a  cer- 
tain large-minded  tolerance,  Ibsen  does  not  shrink 
from  exhibiting,  in  a  spirit  of  calm  justice,  the  distor- 
tions imparted  to  sane  existence  by  the  single-idea-d 
passion  to  "  live  one's  own  life  '* —  superficially 
classed  as  Ibsen's  pet  theory  —  irrespective  of  the 
larger  social  reactions.  I  felt  that  Nazimova,  forti- 
fied by  a  consistent  conception,  endowed  the  character 
of  Rita  with  a  sort  of  alluring  naturalism,  and  this  in 
face  of  the  fact  that  Ibsen's  Rita  is  the  repellent  type 
of  the  exclusively  carnal  instinct.  Because  of  just 
such  patchwork  characters  as  Allmers,  with  his  fine- 
spun theories,  mouth-filling  phrases,  and  petty  con- 
duct, Ibsen's  repute  as  a  dramatist  suffers  most.  In 
this  play  are  scenes  most  poignantly  moving  in  tragic 
revelation,  dark  soul  interiors  suddenly  illumined 
with  lightning  flashes  of  intuition.  Yet  we  cannot 
share  the  sad  optimism  of  Rita  and  Allmers  in  the 
sincerity  of  their  altruistic  purpose  —  the  craving  of 
the  animal  only  slumbers,  amateur  idealism  shall 
suffer  attenuation  through  the  sophistry  of  the 
theorist. 

JoJmJ^akrkLMorkman  is  Ibsen's  most  quiescent, 
most  perfectly  static  drama.  One  may  best  describe 
it  as  an  evocation  of  a  state  of  mind.  Ibsen  here 
paints  the  peculiarly  modern  type  of  the  megalo- 
maniac, the  logical  product  of  the  industrial  brig- 
andage   of    the    late    nineteenth    century.     Bork- 


152  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


1 


man  is  a  wounded  Napoleon  of  finance  shown  In  the' 
last  phase,  fretting  out  his  great  mad  soul  in  the 
St.  Helena  of  his  little  room.  He  is  the  tragic  vic- 
tim of  colossal  egotism;  the  Nietzschean  exemplar  of 
the  "  higher  morality  "  shattered  upon  the  rock  of 
inexorable  legal  justice.  When  We  Dead  Awaken^ 
Ibsen's  sad  epilogue,  Is  at  once  a  Calvary  and  a 
Resurrection.  Like  Nietzsche,  Ibsen  burned  for 
great  exhibitions  of  full-blooded  egoism,  aspired  to 
tremendous  struggles  for  that  moral  freedom  which 
IS  beyond  good  and  evil.  And  yet,  like  Solness, 
neither  could  climb  as  high  as  he  built.  In  the  life 
of  daily  actuality  both  were  incapable  of  standing 
"  high  and  free.''  Nietzsche's  life  and  letters  show 
it  only  too  clearly;  Ibsen's  life,  his  experience  with 
the  little  falcon  of  Gossensass,  his  moral  reflections 
poured  out  in  his  latest  plays,  are  all  too  circum- 
stantial. In  Rebekka  West,  in  Hedda  Gabler,  in 
Halvard  Solness,  in  Elllda  Wangel,  we  see  the  nas- 
cent and  maturing  impulses  of  the  "  Will  to 
Power  " ;  but  Ibsen  breaks  down  upon  the  frontiers 
of  the  kingdom;  he  can  never  escape  the  eternal 
:. question:  Has  one  the  moral  right?  When  We 
Dead  Awaken  is  the  tragedy  of  life's  disillusion :  the 
discovery  when  it  is  too  late  that  life's  best  gifts 
'  have  been  wasted  in  pursuit  of  the  Illusory,  rather 
,  than  of  the  enduring  real.  Great  is  Eros ;  and  Ibsen, 
even  Ibsen,  is  his  prophet.  The  lesson  of  When  We 
Dead   Awaken^    perhaps    the    meaning    of    Ibsen's 


HENRIK  IBSEN  153 

"  high,  painful  happiness  "  in  old  age,  the  hopeless 
longing  for  the  Irrevocably  unattainable,  is  caught 
up  In  Robert  Browning's  memorable  words  from 
Youth  and  Art: 


"  Each  life's  unfulfilled,  yo.u  see, 

It  hangs  still,  patchy  and  scrappy: 
We  have  not  sighed  deep,  laughed  free. 

Starved,  feasted,  despaired,  been  happy, 
And  nobody  calls  you  a  dunce, 

And  people  suppose  me  clever: 
This  could  not  have  happened  once, 

And  we  missed  it,  lost  it  forever," 

XI 

Exaggeration  lurks  In  the  statement  that  Henrik 
Ibsen  laid  the  foundations  of  a  new  school  of 
art  by  enlisting  naturalism  in  the  service  of  social 
reforms.  Rather  is  it  true  that,  by  veracious  por- 
traiture of  contemporary  life,  Ibsen  sought  the 
moral  regeneration  of  the  Individual,  and,  Indirectly, 
of  society.  The  ideal  Is  the  eternal  sovereign  of  the 
palace  of  life.  Man  perishes,  but  the  Ideal  endures. 
"  The  Ideal  is  dead,  long  live  the  ideal  I  "  is  the  epi- 
tome of  all  human  progress.  In  the  evolutionary 
trend  of  human  progress  Ibsen  rested  his  profound- 
est  hope.  The  charge  of  nihilism  he  resented  with 
the  utmost  bitterness.  His  heresy  consisted  in  re- 
garding morality  as  fluid,   evolutional;  he  Insisted 


154  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

that  Ideals  were  functions  of  civilization.  **  It  has 
been  asserted  on  various  occasions  that  I  am  a  pessi- 
mist," Ibsen  once  remarked.  "  So  I  am  to  this  ex- 
tent —  that  I  do  not  believe  human  ideals  to  be  eter- 
nal. But  I  am  also  an  optimist,  for  I  believe  firmly 
in  the  power  of  those  ideals  to  propagate  and  de- 
velop." The  cry  of  progress,  in  all  ages,  is  the 
disillusioned  cry  of  one  of  Ibsen's  own  characters: 
"  The  old  beauty  is  no  longer  beautiful,  the  new 
truth  no  longer  true."  Ibsen  preferred  to  dedicate 
himself  to  the  future;  he  sacrificed  friends  because 
he  regarded  them  as  an  expensive  luxury,  and  once 
was  heard  to  quote  approvingly  Arthur  Symons* 
line :  **  The  long,  Intolerable  monotony  of  friends." 
It  is  always  the  future  in  which  Ibsen  puts  his  trust; 
and  historical  optimism  describes  his  personal  angle 
of  vision.  Like  Nietzsche's  fierce  prophet  Zara- 
thustra,  Ibsen  might  well  say  of  himself:  "  I  am  of 
to-day  and  of  the  past;  but  something  is  within  me 
that  is  of  to-morrow,  and  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  the  far  future." 

In  matters  of  conduct,  Ibsen  has  no  golden  rule 
for  the  governance  of  society.  Bernard  Shaw  says 
of  Ibsen's  philosophy :  "  The  golden  rule  is  that 
there  Is  no  golden  rule."  Individual  responsibility 
is  the  sole  and  ultimate  test  of  conduct.  Ibsen's 
whole  ideal  of  life  may  be  expressed  in  the  words 
of  Polonlus  in  Hamlet: 


HENRIK  IBSEN  155 

**  To  thine  own  self  be  true 

And  It  doth  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

Ibsen  advocates  the  naked  assertion  of  the  human 
will;  but  he  never  escapes  the  unsolved  problem  of 
moral  right. 

His  own  Brand  implacably  declares: 

"  Beggar  or  rich, —  with  all  my  soul 
I  will;  and  that  one  thing's  the  whole." 

And  yet  Brand  Is  Ibsen's  most  colossal,  most 
tragic  failure.  Self-realization  through  conscious 
self-examination  and  active  assertion  of  the  human 
will  —  this  Is  the  lesson  of  the  Ibsenic  dramas.  Ib- 
sen is  an  evolutionist;  and  evolution  teaches,  if  indi- 
rectly, that  self-development,  self-realization,  if  you 
will,  should  be  the  aim,  both  of  the  individual  and 
of  the  race.  "  The  expression  of  our  own  Individ- 
uality Is  our  first  duty,'*  Ibsen  once  said;  and  this 
doctrine  he  has  exemplified  In  all  his  social  dramas. 
If  only  every  man  be  true  to  himself.  If  only  every 
individual  will  seek  his  own  highest  development, 
there  need  be  no  fear  for  the  future.  It  is  in  that 
future  that  the  "  third  kingdom  "  shall  come.  Ibsen 
once  rose  at  a  banquet  and,  in  a  toast  as  holy  as  a 
benediction,  as  solemn  as  a  sacrifice,  drank  deep  to 
das   Werdende,   das  Kommende,     When   someone 


156  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

once  remarked  to  Ibsen,  In  his  latter  years,  that  he 
would  be  fully  understood  In  the  distant  future,  Ib- 
sen eagerly  replied :  ''  J  a,  wenn  wir  das  nur  glau- 
ben  konntenf —  Yes,  if  we  only  could  believe 
that/ 

I  What  Ibsen  desired  was  a  revolution  of  the  spirit 
f  man.  He  fully  recognized  the  moral  quality  of 
all  human  experience.  And  morality,  as  Nordau 
shrewdly  puts  it,  Is  essentially  optimistic,  presup- 
posing conscious  and  rational  efforts  towards  the 
realization  of  the  maximum  of  human  happiness. 
With  the  force  of  the  moral  ever  at  work  within 
him,  Ibsen  has  taught  us  in  the  school  of  our  own 
lives.  Before  us  he  has  held  the  mirror  of  his  art- 
works; and  therein  we  have  recognized,  sometimes 
with  amazement,  sometimes  with  horrified  fascina- 
tion, sometimes  with  cursings  and  revillngs,  our  own 
moral  features,  our  own  spiritual  lineaments.  None 
but  ourselves  have  we  met  on  the  highway  of  fate. 
As  Goethe  said  of  Mollere,  so  say  we  of  Ibsen :  he 
has  chastized  us  by  painting  us  just  as  we  are.  His 
h  appeal  is  to  the  restless,  disturbing  life  of  our  own 
A  day.  And  his  dramas  are  his  tentatlves  at  the  ques- 
tion which  Tolstoi  claims  Shakspere  never  con- 
sciously proposed  to  himself:  "  What  are  we-alive 
for?" 

Ibsen*s  plays,  his  greatest  plays,  are  universal 
*  I  because  they  are  laid  In  the  Inner  life,  the  region  of 
\  moral  consciousness.     His  whole  drama,  from  one 


HENRIK  IBSEN  157 

aspect,  may  be  regarded  as  a  microscopic  analysis 
of  the  morbid  self-consciousness  of  modern  life. 
The  Immediate  effect  of  Ibsen's  plays  is  to  awaken 
thought,  to  induce  reflection,  to  compel  people  to 
analyze  and  ponder  grave  questions  of  individual 
and  social  morality.  Here  we  have  a  striking  ex- 
ample of  that  desiderated  publicity  so  widely  her- 
alded to-day  as  the  salvation  of  the  business  and  com- 
mercial honor  of  democratic  government.  Ibsen 
does  not  summon  to  Immediate  action :  his  appeal  to 
what  we  are  accustomed  to  call  **  the  passions  "  is 
practically  nil.  His  appeal  Is  to  that  great  and 
growing  moral  passion  for  social  enlightenment 
which  is  permeating  the  entire  civilized  world.  Ib- 
sen starts  within  the  individual  a  train  of  meditation 
and  reflection  which  may  alter  a  life,  which  may 
even  Influence  the  whole  world.  Emerson  says: 
To  think  is  to  act. 

Ibsen  once  said :  "  It  should  be  the  endeavor  of 
every  dramatist  to  Improve  the  prevailing  order  of 
the  world."  Ibsen's  aim  Is  to  aid  in  the  perfecting 
of  Individual  and  civil  life.  It  seems,  indeed,  as 
Brunetiere  says,  that  we  of  to-day  are  marching  to- 
wards the  socialization,  the  moralizatlon  of  litera- 
ture. Since  Ibsen  has  lived  and  written,  literature 
has  thrilled  with  a  new  joy  —  the  passion  for  indi- 
vidual self-realization,  the  passion  for  a  more  just 
and  perfect  social  order. 


The  Genesis   of  His  Dramas 

''  To  dramatize  is  to  see  J' 

Henrik  Ibsen  to  Johann  Paulsen. 


Like  Goethe,  like  George  Eliot,  Henrik  Ibsen 
was  that  rarest  of  products,  an  artistic  temperament 
endowed  with  a  scientific  brain.  Along  with  Ed- 
gar Allan  Poe,  Ibsen  must  be  ranked  as  a  strange 
composite  of  scientific  worker  and  artistic  thirikelF^  " 
With  unexampled  frankness,  he  once  likened  himself 
to  a  surgeon  holding  the  feverish  pulse  of  society 
in  the  interests  of  universal  sanity.  And  yet  his 
art  seems  like  the  work  of  a  magician;  and  about 
the  composition  of  his  well-nigh  flawless  plays  there 
IS  something  of  the  air  of  prestidigitation.  The 
cloak  of  mystery  In  which  he  veiled  himself  from 
all  the  world,  even  from  his  wife  and  son,  well 
served  Ibsen's  purpose  of  exciting  endless  specula- 
tions as  to  the  manner  of  creation  of  those  marvel- 
lous dramas  which  give  positive  character  and  qual- 
ity to  the  age  In  which  we  live. 

When  Ibsen  was  Incubating  the  Ideas  for  a  new 
play,  he  displayed  the  most  delicate  art  of  finesse 

158 


HENRIK  IBSEN  159 

in  directing  the  conversation  of  everyone  to  the 
theme  over  which  he  was  brooding,  without  leading 
the  speakers  to  suspect  his  own  vital  interest  therein. 
From  his  wife,  Ibsen  jealously  concealed  every  faint- 
est indication  of  his  dramatic  "  whimsies  "  as  he  was 
fond  of  calling  them ;  but  once  the  play  was  entirely 
finished,  she  it  was  who  read  it  first.  On  one  occa- 
sion, his  wife  and  son  were  very  curious  about  the 
new  play,  concerning  which  Ibsen  had  let  fall  not 
the  slightest  hint.  One  day,  on  leaving  the  coupe 
at  the  station,  Ibsen  dropped  a  tiny  piece  of  paper, 
which  his  wife  surreptitiously  picked  up.  Upon  it 
was  written:  "The  doctor  says — '*  that  was  all. 
Having  confided  to  Sigurd,  in  advance,  her  playful 
intention  of  teasing  Ibsen,  she  knowingly  remarked 
to  him:  "What  sort  of  doctor  Is  that  who  takes 
part  In  your  new  play?  He  certainly  has  many  in- 
teresting things  to  say !  "  For  a  moment,  Ibsen  was 
speechless  with  amazement  and  rage.  Then  the 
deluge:  What  was  the  meaning  of  this?  Was  he 
no  longer  secure  In  his  own  home?  Surrounded  by 
spies?  His  desk  rifled,  his  sanctuary  defiled?  Im- 
agine the  silent  humiliation  with  which  he  heard  the 
true  explanation ! 

At  last,  the  secrets  of  this  abnormally  secretive 
genius  have  been  disclosed.  And  perhaps  no  more 
interesting,  no  more  unique,  no  more  novel  docu- 
ments in  the  field  of  literary  evolution  have  ever 
been  given  to  the  world.     "The  doctor  says — ** 


i6o  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

read  that  enigmatic  slip  which  so  piqued  Fru  Ibsen's 
curiosity.  It  is  an  enigma  no  longer,  for  in  the  vol- 
umes of  his  Nachgelassene  Schriften  the  Doctor  has 
indeed  spoken. 

At  several  periods  In  his  career,  Ibsen  contem- 
plated writing  an  autobiographical  account  of  the 
outward  and  inward  conditions  under  which  each 
one  of  his  works  came  into  being.  Discreet  and 
taciturn  as  he  was  by  nature  and  by  cultivation,  Ib- 
sen yet  realized  the  advisability  of  some  form  of 
concession  to  the  vastly  greedy  public  who  resented 
his  extreme  reserve  and  were  genuinely  Interested 
in  learning  the  history  of  the  psychological  evolution 
of  the  great  dramatist.  Delighting  In  a  sphinx-like 
attitude  and  deliberately  fostering  the  accumulating 
legends  of  his  mysterious  wizardry,  Ibsen  wished  to 
tell  only  of  the  circumstances  and  conditions  under 
which  he  wrote,  "  observing  the  utmost  discretion, 
and  leaving  a  wide  field  for  all  kinds  of  surmises.'* 
Unfortunately  for  the  world,  Frederik  Hegel,  Ib- 
sen's publisher,  dissuaded  him  from  his  unusually 
suggestive  project.  The  experiment  with  Catiline 
had  aroused  the  public  Interest;  to  do  the  same  for 
all  his  plays  seemed  to  Ibsen  eminently  worth  while. 
This  Idea  of  writing  some  form  of  autobiography 
seems  for  many  years  to  have  lurked  just  below  the 
surface  of  Ibsen's  mind.  The  divergence  of  opinion 
in  regard  to  certain  of  his  works,  the  repeated  as- 
sertions by  the  critics  of  the  contradictorlness  of  his 


HENRIK  IBSEN  i6i 

philosophy  and  its  lack  of  any  sort  of  logical  con- 
tinuity, impressed  Ibsen  with  the  necessity  of  writing 
a  book  dealing  with  the  gradual  development  of  his 
mind  and  exhibiting  the  intimate  connection  between 
the  philosophical  and  psychological  motives  of  his 
successive  plays.  "  In  reality,"  he  once  confessed  to 
Lorentz  Dietrichson,  "  my  development  is  thor- 
oughly consecutive.  I  myself  can  Indicate  the  vari- 
ous threads  in  the  whole  course  of  my  development, 
the  unity  of  my  ideas,  and  their  gradual  evolution, 
and  I  am  on  the  point  of  writing  down  some  notes, 
which  shall  prove  to  the  world  that  I  am  the  same 
person  to-day  that  I  was  on  the  day  I  first  found  my- 
self." His  little  book,  of  from  i6o  to  200  pages, 
and  to  be  entitled  From  Skien  to  Norway,  has  never 
come  to  light.  Certain  it  is  that  for  some  time  prior 
to  November,  1881,  he  had  been  working  upon  this 
book,  portions  of  which  he  actually  offered  to  Olaf 
Skavlan  for  his  magazine  Nyt  Tidsskrift.  A  frag- 
ment alone  survives.  In  lieu  of  that  work,  of  which 
a  merest  beginning  was  made,  now  appear  the  pre- 
cious volumes  (three  in  the  Scandinavian,  four  In  the 
German  edition)  of  his  Nachgelassene  Schriften, 
There  can  be  little  question  that  these  volumes,  ex- 
hibiting as  they  do  the  Intricate  workings  of  Ibsen's 
mind  In  the  actual  process  of  the  composition  of  his 
plays,  are  of  far  more  universal  and  permanent  Inter- 
est than  any  form  of  autobiography  or  self-analysis 
he  may  have  contemplated  or  even,  in  part,  commit- 


1 62  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ted  to  writing.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  few 
examples  we  have  of  Ibsen^s  attempts  at  critical  self- 
analysis  are  particularly  successful,  or,  indeed  —  to 
the  critical  student  —  wholly  convincing.  There 
lurks  behind  them  something  of  the  equivocal  and 
the  disingenuous  —  for  Ibsen  had  a  way  of  denying, 
when  charged  with  it  by  the  critics,  the  most  patent 
indebtedness  to  others. 

II 

To  the  human  mind  there  is  an  indescribable  fas- 
cination in  searching  out  the  secrets  of  the  great 
masters  of  literature  in  the  composition  of  their 
masterpieces.  Perhaps  the  poet,  as  Poe  suggests, 
voluntarily  encourages  the  popular  opinion  that  he 
composes  in  a  series  of  lightning-flashes  of  ecstatic 
intuition : 

"  His  eye  In  a  fine  frenzy  rolling." 

Incidents  in  support  of  this  fantastic  and  senti- 
mental conception  frequently  run  the  gamut  of  pub- 
licity; and  strange  stories  of  magic  feats  of  compo- 
sition impress  alike  the  sceptical  and  the  credulous. 
Long  and  elaborate  works  of  art  require  profound 
reflection,  minute  analysis  and  prolonged  study.  To 
peep  into  the  workshop  of  the  great  master's  brain 
and  assist  at  the  precise  balancing  of  the  arguments 
pro  and  con,  to  observe  how  an  idea  first  finds  lodg- 
ment in  the  brain,  and  to  note  the  gradual  symmet- 


HENRIK  IBSEN  163 

rical  accretion  of  the  fundamental  nuclei  for  the 
final  creation  —  this  is  a  privilege  that  has  perhaps 
never  fully  been  realized  by  any  observer.  Poe,  for 
the  first  time  In  the  world's  history,  elaborates  the 
various  mental  processes,  the  successive  reflections, 
by  which  a  poet  —  himself  —  arrives  at  the  philo- 
sophical and  structural  bases  of  a  poetic  masterpiece 

—  The  Raven,  He  draws  the  curtain  and  lets  the 
people  take  a  peep  behind  the  scenes 

at  the  elaborate  and  vacillating  crudities  of  thought  —  at 
the  true  purposes  seized  only  at  the  last  moment  —  at  the 
innumerable  glimpses  of  idea  that  arrived  not  at  the  ma- 
turity of  full  view  —  at  the  fully  matured  fancies  discarded 
In  despair  as  unmanageable  —  at  the  cautious  selections  and 
rejections  —  at  the  painful  erasures  and  Interpolations  — 
in  a  word,  at  the  wheels  and  pinions  —  the  tackle  for  scene- 
shifting —  the  step-ladders  and  demon-traps — the  cock's 
feathers,  which,  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  con- 
stitute the  properties  of  the  literary  histrio. 

So  lucid,  so  logical  Is  Poe's  analysis  of  the  con- 
siderations which  gave  him  the  fundamental  mo- 
tives for  The  Raven,  that  it  has  been  customary  for 
the  critics  to  point  out  the  discrepancy  between  Poe's 
cold-bloodedly  scientific  explanation  and  the  roman- 
tic glamour  of  his  magic  poetry.  The  world  has 
been  Inclined  to  judge  Poe's  exposition  as  a  brilliant 
scientific  analysis  of  poetic  intuition  and  inspiration 

—  after  the  fact  —  a  mathematical  recreation  In  the 


^"  WT        EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS  H 

category  of  cipher-solving.  And  yet,  there  is  gooT 
reason  for  believing  that  Poe,  with  his  marvellous 
faculty  of  analysis,  must  have  experienced  some  such 
succession  of  mental  states  as  those  he  so  succinctly 
describes,  though  doubtless  not  in  the  elaborately 
articulated  and  logical  sequence  upon  which  he  lays 
so  much  stress.  Even  granting  the  validity  of  all 
that  he  says,  he  still  holds  something  back.  Wc 
have  not  yet  plucked  the  heart  out  of  his  mystery; 
the  last  veil  is  yet  unpierced,  the  veil  which  conceals 
the  inner  shrine  of  his  poetic  genius  —  the  secrets  of 
his  haunting  music,  his  daemonic  magic,  his  creative 
imagination. 

Nothing  so  piques  the  fancy  as  the  image  of  the 
great  master-craftsman  spinning  out  the  threads  of 
\/  his  creative  imagination  and  weaving  the  magic  pat- 
terns of  human  life  which  shall  enrapture  thousands 
in  that  palace  of  light  and  sound,  the  theatre.  The 
curiosity  of  the  inquisitive  has  recently  been  given 
official  sanction  by  a  great  educational  institution 
—  in  the  case  of  the  investigations,  by  Hodell,  of 
that  "  Yellow  Book  "  which  first  awoke  in  Robert 
Browning  the  idea  of  the  many-sided  complex  of 
confession,  recrimination  and  exculpation  embodied 
in  The  Ring  and  the  Book.  The  documents  which 
Henrik  Ibsen,  the  greatest  dramatic  craftsman  since 
Moliere,  religiously  preserved  and  which  are  now 
brought  to  light,  at  last  furnish  to  the  world  the 
most  elaborate,  most  veraciously  authentic  record  of 


HENRIK  IBSEN  165 

the  evolutionary  genesis  of  the  masterpieces  of  a 
great  genius,  that  the  world  has  ever  known. 
These  literary  remains,  be  It  noted,  consist  not  of  Ib- 
sen's possibly  supposititious  accounts  of  the  brain 
processes  which  gave  rise  to  his  dramaturgic  master- 
pieces, but  of  the  actual  documental  memoranda  of 
the  successive  states  of  Ibsen's  mind  In  the  creation 
and  development  of  his  plays.  Here  we  find  the 
first  original  jottings  of  the  thoughts  which  clustered 
together  around  some  burning  point  in  modern  social 
philosophy;  the  original  scenarios  which  project  a 
vivid  picture  In  little  of  the  dramatic  conjuncture; 
the  genetic  states  of  mind  through  which  Ibsen 
passed  in  creating  and  re-creating  human  ex- 
perience; and  finally  the  penultimate  drafts  of  his 
plays,  just  prior  to  that  last  marvellous  polishing, 
filing  and  chiselling  upon  the  dexterously  fashioned 
material  of  his  own  creation.  These  documents, 
which  Ibsen  called  "  foreworks,"  are  given  to  the 
world  with  his  authorization;  he  looked  upon  them 
much  as  a  great  painter  regards  the  original  sketches 
and  preparatory  designs  for  his  completed  pictures. 
And  It  Is  noteworthy  that,  more  than  once  during  the 
latter  years  of  his  life,  Ibsen,  pointing  to  this  packet 
of  manuscripts,  remarked  to  his  wife  and  son: 
"  These  are  very  Important  things  —  perhaps  the 
most  important  of  all.'*  Ferdinand  Brunetlere  has 
applied  the  complex  machinery  of  Darwinian  evolu- 
tion to  literary  forms,   and  shown  the  successive 


1 66  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

stages  by  which  a  Hterary  type  reached  its  presen 
state  of  development.  In  his  "  foreworks,"  Ibsen 
exhibits  the  successive  stages  in  the  evolution  of  a 
particular  specimen  of  art-form,  the  modern  drama, 
the  most  difficult,  most  recalcitrant  of  the  forms  of 
creative  composition.  Here  we  may  observe,  as  it 
were,  the  Darwinian  process  modified  by  the  muta- 
tion theory  of  De  Vries  —  the  gradual  evolutionary 
process  of  infinitely  small  changes  modified  by  the 
"  evolution  by  explosion "  of  the  human,  expe- 
riential factor.  A  marvellous  composite  of  the  dual, 
mutually  interacting  operations  of  the  analytic 
faculty  with  the  synthetic  genius,  of  the  scientific  ^ 
method  with  the  poetic  vision. 


Ill 

Upon  Ibsen's  table,  it  has  been  related,  there 
stood  beside  his  inkstand  a  small  tray,  containing  a 
lot  of  extraordinary  toys  —  some  little  carved 
wooden  Swiss  bears,  a  diminutive  black  devil,  small 
cats,  dogs  and  rabbits  made  of  copper,  one  of 
which  was  playing  the  violin.  '*  I  never  write  a 
single  line  of  any  of  my  dramas  unless  that  tray  and 
its  occupants  are  before  me  on  the  table,'*  Ibsen  is 
said  to  have  remarked.  "  I  could  not  write  with- 
out them.  It  may  seem  strange  —  perhaps  it  is  — 
but  I  cannot  write  without  them."  And  with  a 
quiet  laugh,  he  mysteriously  added,  "  Why  I  use 
them  is  my  own  secret."     There  is  one  other  re- 


I 


HENRIK  IBSEN  167 

mark  of  Ibsen's  which,  taken  in  connection  with 
this  perhaps  fanciful  story,  serves  to  give  the  clue 
to  Ibsen's  real  attitude  towards  his  work  and  the 
methods  he  employed.  "  Everything  that  I  have 
written,"  he  said  in  a  letter  to  Ludwig  Passarge  in 
1880,  *'  has  the  closest  possible  connection  with  what 
I  have  lived  through,  even  if  it  has  not  been  my  own 
personal  experience;  in  every  new  poem  or  play  I 
have  aimed  at  my  own  spiritual  emancipation  and 
purification  —  for  a  man  shares  the  responsibility 
and  the  guilt  of  the  society  to  which  he  belongs. 
Hence  I  wrote  the  following  dedicatory  lines  in  a 
copy  of  one  of  my  books : 

"  To  live  —  is  to  war  with  fiends 
That  infest  the  brain  and  the  heart; 
To  write  —  is  to  summon  one's  self, 
And  play  the  judge's  part." 

Ibsen  succeeded  in  packing  his  plays  with  the  ut- 
most of  thought  content,  in  that  he  deliberately  made 
it  a  rule  never  to  speak  polemically  save  through  the 
medium  of  his  dramatic  characters.  Contrary  to 
the  popular  impression  that  the  successful  dramatist 
must  write  always  with  "  his  eye  on  the  stage,"  Ibsen 
seldom  visited  the  stage  save  when  his  presence  was 
imperatively  required  at  the  rehearsals  of  one  of 
his  own  plays.  And  yet  he  was  peculiarly  sensitive 
to  scenic  effects,  such  as  the  color  of  carpet  and 
wall-paper,  to  proper  intonation,  and  even  to  such 


1 68  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

an  apparently  insignificant  detail  as  the  size  of  an^ 
actress's  hands.  Brandes  relates  a  significant  inci- 
dent which  took  place  at  a  dinner  given  to  Ibsen. 
One  of  the  banqueters,  who  had  escorted  the  beauti- 
ful actress,  Fraulein  Constance  Brunn,  arose  at  the 
banquet  and  said,  "  My  partner  requests  me  to  pre- 
sent to  you.  Dr.  Ibsen,  the  thanks  of  the  actresses 
of  the  Christiania  Theatre  and  to  tell  you  that  there 
are  no  roles  which  she  would  rather  play,  or  from 
which  she  can  learn  more,  than  yours."  To  which 
Ibsen  immediately  replied,  "  I  must  state  at  the  out- 
set that  I  do  not  write  roles,  but  represent  human 
beings;  and  that  never  in  my  life  during  the  creation 
of  a  play  have  I  had  before  my  eyes  an  actor  or 
actress."  It  was  Ibsen's  remarkable  power  of  vis- 
ualizing the  stage  sets  which  enabled  him  to  dis- 
pense with  the  actual  theatre  and  the  actual  player. 
"  Since  I  have  a  strong  Imaginative  feeling  for  the 
dramatic,"  he  once  wrote,  '*  I  can  see  before  me 
most  vividly  everything  that  Is  really  credible,  trust- 
worthy, true."  Like  the  great  French  magician, 
Houdin,  Ibsen  possessed  a  faculty  for  minute  ob- 
servation trained  to  a  supreme  degree.  His  genius 
for  detail  confirms  his  significant  statement  to  Paul- 
sen :     "  To  dramatize  is  to  see.** 

IV 

Before  Ibsen  wrote  a  single  line  bearing  upon  a 
play,  he  gave  himself  over  to  isolated  contemplation 


HENRIK  IBSEN  169 

and  reflection.  In  long  solitary  walks,  in  the  sanc- 
tuary of  his  study,  in  hours-long  motionless  con- 
templation of  the  sea  or  of  the  landscape,  in  minute 
reading  of  the  newspapers  down  to  the  smallest  ad- 
vertisement, in  dumb  contemplation  of  the  human 
pageant  in  the  mirror  before  him  as  he  sat  at  meals 
in  his  restaurant  —  Ibsen  slowly  and  patiently  al- 
lowed the  ferment  of  ideas  to  go  on  in  his  brain 
until,  as  by  a  chemical  reaction,  there  occurred  the 
intellectual  precipitation  of  some  generality  of  moral 
import  and  sociologic  bearing.  He  never  put  pen 
to  paper,  as  he  once  confessed  to  Alfred  Sinding- 
Larsen,  until  he  had  a  clear  picture  of  everything  In 
his  head  —  even  down  to  the  versification  and  rough 
details  of  the  dialogue.  When  he  actually  began  to 
write,  he  exhibited  the  marvellous  spectacle  of  pro- 
ceeding as  uninterruptedly  as  if  he  were  writing  to 
dictation.  The  act  of  dressing  was  a  long  and 
laborious  process  with  Ibsen;  according  to  his  own 
confessions,  he  was  revolving  in  his  mind,  while 
dressing  himself,  the  incidents  and  scenes  of  the 
play  then  in  progress.  It  piques  the  fancy  to  won- 
der If  the  "  auction  "  of  The  Lady  From  the  Sea, 
Solness'  ascent  to  the  tower,  or  Nora's  argument 
with  Helmer,  occurred  to  Ibsen  while  he  was  pulling 
on  his  trousers !  When  he  left  off  work  for  the  day, 
he  took  pains  to  keep  in  mind  some  fragment  of 
dialogue  for  a  starting  point  on  the  morrow.  If, 
however,  this  bit  of  dialogue  did  not  set  his  thoughts 


170  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


I 


flowing  readily  through  his  pen,  he  abandoned  writ- 
ing for  the  time  being,  and  quietly  brooded  over  the 
problem,  the  characters,  or  the  situation.  ■ 

First  of  all,  Ibsen  jotted  down  memoranda  (Aus- 
zeichnungen),  by  which  he  clarified  the  intellectual 
problem  and  set  the  drama  in  embryo,  as  under  a 
microscope,  before  his  eyes.  These  memoranda  are 
usually  of  a  philosophical,  psychological  or  sociologi- 
cal nature:  pungent  observations  upon  life,  criticisms 
of  contemporary  society,  epigrams,  thumb-nail 
sketches  of  character,  je  ne  sais  quoi  du  tout.  They 
were  written  upon  the  most  haphazard  material — ■ 
odd  slips  of  paper,  the  backs  of  envelopes,  news- 
paper wrappers,  any  loose  sheets  of  paper.  These 
noted  ideas  gradually  seemed  to  group  themselves, 
as  if  with  subconscious  design,  around  some  gen- 
erality of  thought  —  a  nuclear  accretion  around 
some  central  point. 

After  a  time,  the  principal  characters  of  his  pro- 
jected play,  minutely  observed  from  life  but  always 
transmuted  in  his  poetic  consciousness,  began  to  as- 
sume definite  psychological  character  and  highly  in- 
dividual attributes.  Then  Ibsen  seems  to  have 
brought  this  experiential  conception  to  bear  upon  the 
epigrammatic  Idea-forms  preserved  in  haphazard 
memoranda.  This  intrusion  of  his  dramatic  concep- 
tion Into  the  field  of  his  general  ideas  produced  a 
remarkable  effect  —  much  like  that  caused  by  a  mag- 
net brought  to  bear  upon  metal  filings  scattered  upon 


HENRIK  IBSEN  171 

a  glass  plate.  At  once  the  general  Ideas  began  to 
group  themselves  into  symmetrical  designs  of  defin- 
ite contour. 

These  notes  are  preserved  to  us  In  various  states 
of  nuclear  accretion;  and  examples  may  best  exhibit 
the  types  of  these  various  states.  The  following  epi- 
grams point  directly  to  the  plays  bracketed  after 
them. 

Modern  society  is  no  human  society;  it  is  solely  a  society 
for  males. —  (A  DolVs  House.) 

"  Free-born  men  "  is  a  mere  flowery  phrase.  There  aren't 
any.  Marriage,  the  relation  between  man  and  woman,  has 
destroyed  the  race,  has  fixed  upon  every  one  the  marks  of 
slavery. —  (Ghosts) 

This  tomfoolery!  We  acknowledge  the  right  of  the  ma- 
jority; and  yet  those  who  exercise  the  ballot  constitute  a 
small,  arbitrarily  limited  minority. — {An  Enemy  of  the 
People.) 

Freedom  consists  in  securing  for  the  individual  the  right 
to  free  himself  —  every  one  according  to  his  needs. — (The 
Lady  From  the  Sea.) 

People  say  that  suicide  is  immoral.  But  what  about  living 
a  life  of  prolonged  suicide  —  out  of  regard  for  one's  en- 
vironment ?  —  (  Hedda  Gabler. ) 

A  new  nobility  will  come  into  being.  It  will  not  be  the 
nobility  of  birth  or  of  wealth,  nor  yet  the  nobility  of  endow- 
ment or  of  knowledge.  The  nobility  of  the  future  will  be 
the  nobility  of  soul  and  of  will. — {Rosmersholm.)^ 

1  Ibsen  used  almost  these  identical  words  in  a  speech  to  the 
workingmen  of  Trondhjem,  June  14,  1885. 


172  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Those  among  us  who  have  the  vote  are  in  the  minority. 

Is  the  minority  right?  —  (An  Enemy  of  the  People.) 

I 
At  a  slightly  later  stage  in  the  evolution  of  his 
dramatic  conception,  Ibsen's  ideas,  as  caught  in  con- 
secutive memoranda,  began  to  converge  tov^ards 
some  general  fable  of  human  experience.  The  best 
example  of  this  stage  is  the  collection  of  the  first 
memoranda  for  Ghosts;  and  to  show  the  unsys- 
tematic way  in  which  these  ideas  first  found  expres- 
sion, it  may  be  pointed  out  that  some  are  found 
upon  the  back  of  an  envelope  addressed  to  "  Ma- 
dame Ibsen,  75  via  Capo  la  Case,  Citta  (Rome)'\ 
others  upon  the  back  of  a  newspaper  addressed  to 
"  Herr  Dr.  Ibsen,  Swedish  Consulate  at  Rome," 
date  1881.  ^, 

i 

The  piece  will  be  like  an  image  of  life.     Faith  under-^' 

mined.  But  it  does  not  do  to  say  so.  "  The  Asylum  " — 
for  the  sake  of  others.  They  shall  be  happy  —  but  this  also 
is  only  an  appearance  —  it  is  all  ghosts  — 

One  main  point.  She  has  been  believing  and  romantic  — 
this  is  not  wholly  obliterated  by  the  standpoint  afterward 
attained  —  "It  is  all  ghosts." 

It  brings  a  Nemesis  on  the  offspring  to  marry  for  external 
reasons,  even  if  they  be  religious  or  moral. 

She,  the  illegitimate  child,  may  be  saved  by  being  married 
to  —  the  son  —  but  then — ? 

He  was  in  his  youth  dissipated  and  worn  out;  then  she, 
the  religiously  awakened,  appeared ;  she  saved  him ;  she  was 
rich.     He  had  wanted  to  marry  a  girl  who  was  thought 


HENRIK  IBSEN  173 

unworthy.  He  had  a  son  in  his  marriage;  then  he  returned 
to  the  girl:  a  daughter  — 

These  women  of  to-day,  ill-treated  as  daughters,  as  sisters, 
as  wives,  not  educated  according  to  their  gifts,  withheld 
from  their  vocation,  deprived  of  their  heritage,  embittered 
in  mind  —  these  it  is  who  furnish  the  mothers  of  the  new 
generation.     What  will  be  the  consequence? 

The  fundamental  note  shall  be:  the  richly  flourishing 
spiritual  life  among  us  in  literature,  art,  etc. —  and  then  as  a 
contrast:  all  humanity  astray  on  wrong  paths. 

The  complete  human  being  is  no  longer  a  natural  pro- 
duct, but  a  product  of  art,  as  corn  is,  and  fruit  trees,  and 
the  Creole  race,  and  the  higher  breeds  of  horses  and  dogs, 
the  vine,  etc. 

The  fault  lies  in  the  fact  that  all  humanity  has  miscarried. 
When  man  demands  to  live  and  develop  humanly,  it  is 
megalomania.  All  humanity,  and  most  of  all  the  Chris- 
tians, suffer  from  megalomania. 

Among  us  we  place  monuments  over  the  dead,  for  we 
recognize  duties  toward  them;  we  allow  people  only  fit  for 
the  hospital  (literally  lepers)  to  marry;  but  their  offspring 
—  ?  the  unborn  —  ? 

A  more  finished  state  of  memorandum,  Imme- 
diately precedent  to  the  actual  elaboration  of  the 
definite  scenario,  Is  preserved  In  reference  to  the 
play  of  A  Doll's  House,  It  Is  Important  to  ob- 
serve — •  and  this  with  absolute  certainty  — ,  that  un- 
doubtedly at  one  stage  In  the  development  of  the 
material,  the  drama  developed  from  quite  general 
Ideas.     Ibsen  himself  confessed  to  M.  G.  Conrad 


TTT^EtjROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

that  he  always  used  the  individual  as  his  starting 
point;  and  he  probably  never  worked  his  general 
ideas  into  a  play  solely  for  their  own  sake.  Ibsen 
always  insisted  that  he  was  much  more  the  creative 
artist  than  the  philosopher  the  public  seemed 
bent  upon  finding  in  him.  And  his  plays  must  be 
thought  of,  not  as  thesis-plays  merely  embodying  one 
germ-idea,  but  as  artistic  re-creations  of  human  ex-i|| 
perience.  With  these  reflections  in  mind  may  now 
be  cited  Ibsen's  "  Notes  for  the  Tragedy  of  To- 
day," the  preliminary  memorandum  for  A  DolVs 
House y  bearing  the  inscription  '*  Rome,  io-i9-'78." 

There  are  two  kinds  of  spiritual  laws,  two  kinds  of  con- 
science, one  in  men  and  a  quite  different  one  In  women. 
They  do  not  understand  each  other;  but  the  woman  is 
judged  in  practical  life  according  to  the  man's  law,  as  If  she 
were  not  a  woman,  but  a  man. 

The  wife  In  the  play  finds  herself  at  last  entirely  at  sea 
as  to  what  Is  right  and  what  wrong;  natural  feeling  on  one 
side  and  belief  In  authority  on  the  other  leave  her  In  utter 
bewilderment. 

A  woman  cannot  be  herself  In  the  society  of  to-day,  which 
IS  exclusively  a  masculine  society,  with  laws  written  by  men, 
and  with  accusers  and  judges  who  judge  feminine  conduct 
from  the  masculine  standpoint. 

She  has  committed  forgery,  and  It  Is  her  pride;  for  she 
did  It  for  love  of  her  husband,  and  to  save  his  life.  But 
this  husband,  full  of  everyday  rectitude,  stands  on  the  basis 
of  the  law,  and  regards  the  matter  with  a  masculine  eye. 


HENRIK  IBSEN  175 

Soul-struggles.  Oppressed  and  bewildered  by  the  belief 
in  authority,  she  loses  her  faith  In  her  own  moral  right  and 
ability  to  bring  up  her  children.  Bitterness.  A  mother  in 
the  society  of  to-day,  like  certain  Insects  (ought  to)  go  away 
and  die  when  she  has  done  her  duty  toward  the  continuance 
of  the  species.  Love  of  life,  of  home,  of  husband  and  chil- 
dren and  kin.  Now  and  then  a  woman-like  shaking-oi¥  of 
cares.  Then  a  sudden  return  of  apprehension  and  dread. 
She  must  bear  It  all  alone.  The  catastrophe  approaches,  in- 
exorably, inevitably.     Despair,  struggle  and  disaster. 

After  the  general  outlines  of  the  play  had  taken 
on  finished  shape,  as  revealed  in  the  above  memo- 
randum for  A  Doll's  House,  for  example,  Ibsen  next 
proceeded  to  the  elaboration  of  the  scenario.  Ibsen 
worked  from  the  scenario  forward,  In  a  manner 
highly  scientific;  this  was  always  his  practice,  even 
the  manuscript  of  the  original  version  of  Ibsen's  first 
play,  Catiline,  of  date  "  25-2-'49,"  exhibiting  an 
elaborate  scenario.  Indeed,  Ibsen  had  no  re- 
spect for  any  dramatist  who  proceeded  otherwise. 
Once  besought  by  a  young  dramatist  to  read  the 
manuscript  of  his  new  play,  Ibsen  curtly  asked  for 
the  scenario.  When  the  young  man  proudly  replied 
that  he  needed  no  scenario,  having  followed  his  In- 
spiration whithersoever  It  led  him  from  scene  to 
scene,  Ibsen  grew  furious  and  showed  the  pseudo- 
dramatist  the  door,  declaring  that  anyone  who  dis- 
pensed with  a  scenario  didn't  know  what  a  drama 


176  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

was  and  couldn't  possibly  write  one.  And  yet,  after 
all,  the  scenario  as  first  outlined  by  Ibsen  may  best 
be  regarded  as  an  experimental  foreshadowing,  sub- 
ject to  radical  modification  as  the  writing  of  the 
play  Itself  proceeds.  It  serves  as  the  skeleton  frame- 
work for  Ibsen's  subsequent  Ideation.  Not  Infre- 
quently a  whole  act  —  as  In  the  case  of  Peer  Gynt  — 
is  written  before  Ibsen  has  definitely  decided  just 
what  role  some  leading  character  Is  destined  to 
play.  The  fragments  of  A  DolVs  House  indicate 
clearly  that  Ibsen  discarded  the  original  plan  for 
each  act,  when  he  came  to  the  actual  writing  of  it. 
While  It  Is  true,  then,  that  the  material  took  shape 
In  his  mind  long  before  he  wrote  a  word  of  actual 
ciialogue,  yet  Ibsen  expressly  acknowledged  that  it 
never  took  such  unalterable  shape  in  his  mind  as  to 
permit  him  to  write  the  last  act  first  and  the  first 
act  last.  During  the  course  of  the  work,  the  details 
emerged  by  degrees.  !||| 

In  this  respect,  the  creation  of  the  drama,  as  ex- 
emplified by  Ibsen,  exhibits  an  excellent  contrast  to 
the  creation  of  the  Short-story,  as  exemplified  by 
Maupassant  or  Poe.  In  the  Short-story,  the  lines  of 
action  initially  converge  to  the  final  goal.  As  Steven- 
son put  It,  the  end  Is  bone  of  the  bone  and  flesh  of 
the  flesh  of  the  beginning.  The  conception  must  be 
retained  throughout.  In  the  drama,  the  lines  of 
interest  are  continually  set  anew  to  converge,  now 


HENRIK  IBSEN  177 

here,  now  there.  The  totality  of  effect,  the  Stini' 
mung,  with  Ibsen  is  created  after  the  "  story "  Is 
mapped  out  In  skeleton  dialogue.  Ibsen  at  will 
broke  through  his  original  plan  In  the  gradual  de- 
velopment of  a  play.  The  Lady  From  the  Sea  in 
its  original  outline,  with  Its  wealth  of  characters,  its 
unique  role  for  Arnholm  and  the  "  Strange  Pas- 
senger,'' and  its  situation  in  a  much  smaller  place 
than  In  the  completed  play,  exhibits  the  digressions 
from  his  original  scenario  which  Ibsen  at  times 
made  in  the  final  form.  In  many  instances  there 
is  less  a  digression  than  an  actual  fusion  or  re-casting 
of  adjacent  parts  under  the  fire  of  his  creative  im- 
agination. Both  The  Pillars  of  Society  and  Ros- 
mersholm,  for  example,  are  four-act  plays,  though 
originally  planned,  and  in  part  written,  to  have  five 
acts.^  Ibsen  possessed  a  remarkable  faculty  for  re- 
jecting the  superfluous;  he  welds  together  allied  yet 
technically  dissociate  elements,  and  by  the  forma- 
tion of  a  concrete  whole,  projects  us  into  the  midst 
of  the  catastrophe  itself.^ 

Parts  of  the  scenario  of  The  Lady  From  the  Sea 
in  a  most  striking  way  exhibit  at  once  the  riotous 
play  of  Ibsen's  fancies,  and  the  initial  fantastic  form 
of  his  conception.  Originally  the  scene  of  the  play 
Is  a  small  watering  place,  shut  In  by  steep,  high, 
overshadowing   cliffs,    and   the   play  begins   at  the 

1  In  Rosmersholm,  the  first  two  acts  are  fused  into  one. 


178  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

time  of  the  last  voyage  of  the  year.  Slowly,  the 
ships  pass  at  midnight,  noiselessly  slipping  into  the 
bay  and  then  out  again. 

The  life  is  clearly  gay,  buoyant  and  fine  up  there  in  the 
shadow  of  the  mountains  and  in  the  monotony  of  seclusion. 
There  thoughts  are  thrown  away:  this  sort  of  life  is  aj 
shadow-life.  No  active  power;  no  struggle  for  freedom. 
Only  longing  and  wishes.  Thus  passes  away  the  brief, 
bright  summer.  And  after  —  into  the  gloom.  Then 
awakes  the  longing  for  the  great  world  without.  But  what 
is  to  be  gained  by  it?  With  the  situation,  with  the  spiritual 
development  arise  claims  and  longings  and  wishes.  He  or 
she,  who  stands  upon  the  heights,  desires  the  secrets  of  the 
future  and  share  in  the  life  of  the  future  and  association 
with  the  distant  world.  Limitation  everywhere.  Hence 
dejection  like  a  mute  song  over  the  whole  of  human  existence 
and  human  action.  A  bright  summer  day,  with  the  great  ^J 
darkness  behind  —  that  is  the  sum  total.  ^H 

Is  there  some  gap  in  man's  evolution:  Why  must  we 
belong  to  the  dry  land:  Why  not  to  the  air?  Why  not 
to  the  sea?  The  longing  to  have  wings.  The  strange 
dreams  that  one  can  fly  without  wondering  over  it, —  what 
is  the  meaning  of  all  this? 

We  shall  gain  control  over  the  sea.  Launch  floating 
cities.  Tow  them  northwards  or  southwards  according  to 
the  season.  Learn  to  control  storms  and  weather.  Some- 
thing happy  will  come  of  it.  And  we  —  we  shall  not  be 
there  to  see  it! 

The  seductive  power  of  the  sea.  The  longing  for  the 
sea.     People  who  are  akin  to  the  sea.     Bound  to  the  sea. 


HENRIK  IBSEN  179 

Dependent  on  the  sea.  Must  get  back  to  the  sea.  One 
species  of  fish  forms  the  primordial  link  in  the  evolutionary 
chain.-^  Do  rudiments  of  it  still  lurk  in  man's  nature?  In 
the  nature  of  particular  individuals? 

The  fantasies  of  the  unresting,  churning  life  of  the  sea, 
and  of  that  w^hich  "  is  lost  forever."  The  sea  exercises  upon 
you  the  power  of  a  mood,  which  works  like  a  will.  The 
sea  can  hypnotize.  Above  all,  Nature  can.  The  great 
mystery  is  man's  dependence  upon  the  "  will-less." 


With  Indefatigable  industry,  coral-like  building 
row  upon  row,  Ibsen  slowly  worked  out  the  psycho- 
logical features  of  his  dramatic  characters,  first 
broadly  sketched  in  the  scenario.  His  power 
of  imaginative  Incarnation  was  that  of  a  magi- 
cian Indeed;  and  he  never  wrote  about  his  char- 
acters until,  as  he  himself  phrased  It,  he  had  them 
wholly  In  his  power  and  knew  them  down  to 
the  "  last  folds  of  their  souls."  The  preliminary 
drafts,  as  a  rule,  lack  dramatic  emphasis  or  finality; 
and  there  Is  a  certain  stage  In  the  Incubation  of 
a  play,  as  Ibsen  confessed  to  Mr.  William  Archer, 
when  It  might  as  easily  turn  Into  an  essay  as  Into 
a  drama.  Ibsen  declared  that  the  ability  to  project 
experience   mentally   lived  through  was  the   secret 

^  The  species  of  fish,  Amphtoxus  lanceolatus,  is  here  doubtless 
referred  to,  indicating  that  Ibsen  had  given  some  study  to  the 
scientific  treatment  of  the  subject,  probably  in  Darwin's  Descent 
of  Man. 


i8o  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  the  literature  of  modern  times.  He  looked 
around  him  and  found  models  in  abundance  in  actual 
life.  He  searched  out  the  depths  of  his  own  soul 
and  found  there  the  confirmation  of  his  hopes  and 
dreams  of  future  society.  Starting  from  some  cru- 
cial instance  of  contemporary  human  experience, 
Ibsen  envisages  for  his  creative  fancy  certain  clearly 
marked,  highly  individual  natures.  Not  the  thesis, 
but  the  Individual  soul,  is  the  prime  subject  of  his 
ceaseless  preoccupation.  It  was  a  source  of  genuine 
pride  to  him  that  he  possessed  a  genius  for  utilizing 
his  acquaintances  as  models  for  his  dramatic  figures, 
—  a  way  of  "  getting  hold  of  people,"  as  he  ex- 
pressed It,  for  his  plays.  It  Is  by  no  means  Im- 
probable that  Ibsen  personified  the  little  toys  which 
stood  upon  his  table.  These  were,  perhaps,  the 
dramatis  persona;  he  perhaps  endowed  each  one  of 
them  with  a  name,  conversed  with  them  in  the  soli- 
tude of  his  study,  and  gave  them  their  positions, 
their  entrances  and  exits,  In  the  play  then  preparing. 
The  people  of  his  fancy  with  whom  he  sometimes 
lived  in  solitude  for  decades  before  their  final  In- 
carnation and  Inclusion  In  a  play,  were  often  more 
real  to  him  than  actual  human  beings;  and  he  knew 
the  characters  almost  from  birth,  In  ancestral  here- 
ditament. In  the  features  of  their  environment,  In 
nascent  qualities  of  soul.  When  someone  remarked 
to  Ibsen  that  Nora,  In  A  DolFs  House,  had  an  odd 
name,  Ibsen  Immediately  replied:     "Oh!  her  full 


HENRIK  IBSEN  i8i 

name  was  Leonora ;  but  that  was  shortened  to  Nora 
when  she  was  quite  a  little  girl.  Of  course,  you 
know  she  was  terribly  spoiled  by  her  parents." 
Sometimes  he  fumbles  here  and  there  with  his 
figures,  developing  some  trait,  heightening  some 
characteristic.  Again,  he  broods  over  a  figure  for 
years  before  finally  incorporating  it  in  a  play.  Yet 
again,  he  finds  the  secret  at  once  and  knows  his 
characters  from  the  very  beginning.  Perhaps  there 
is  no  better  illustration  than  the  description  of  the 
two  leading  figures  in  the  first  form  of  Rosmersholm. 

She  is  an  intrigante  and  she  loves  him.  She  wishes  to  be 
his  wife  and  tenaciously  pursues  this  aim.  He  suspects  it, 
and  she  freely  acknowledges  it.  Now  for  him  there  is  no 
longer  any  happiness  in  life.  Sorrow  and  bitterness  awake 
the  daemonic  in  him.  He  wishes  to  die,  and  she  shall  die 
with  him.     She  does. 

Here  we  have  the  situation  outlined  in  the  most 
laconic  form.  The  genius  of  the  ultimate  creation 
is  displayed  in  the  utilization  of  the  immitigable  in- 
fluence of  ancestral  traits;  the  invention  of  the 
means  —  the  driving  to  death  of  Mrs.  Rosmer  by 
Rebekka  —  through  which  Rosmer's  self-confidence 
is  shattered  and  his  happiness  destroyed;  individ- 
ualistic youth,  tainted  with  blood-guiltiness  finally 
broken  down  under  the  pressure  of  ideals  of 
life  which  lose  themselves  in  the  mists  of  ancient 
heredity.     In   the    case   of   virtually    all    his   prose 


1 82  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

plays,  Ibsen  was  in  the  habit  of  tabulating  a 
complete  cast  of  characters  before  proceeding  to  any- 
noteworthy  development  of  the  theme.  And  in 
some  striking  cases  —  notably  in  Rosmersholm^  The 
Lady  From  the  Sea,  and  When  We  Dead  Awaken 
—  he  has  noted  the  most  important  spiritual  traits 
of  the  characters,  and  outlined  in  marvellous  brevity 
of  compression  the  inner  meaning  of  their  tragedy. 
This  is  well  illustrated  in  Rosmersholm,  as  we  have 
observed;  but  perhaps  most  strikingly  in  the  pre- 
paratory notes  for  When  We  Dead  Awaken, 

First  renowned  through  Irene.  Then  he  wishes  to  live 
and  enjoy  a  second  youth  with  another.  Then  he  changes 
the  statue  into  a  group.  Irene  becomes  an  auxiliary  figure 
in  the  work,  which  has  made  him  world-renowned  — 

First  a  single  statue,  then  a  group.  Thereupon  she  left 
him. 

Our  life  was  not  the  life  of  two  human  beings. 

What,  then,  was  it? 

Only  the  life  of  the  artist  and  his  model. 
******* 

When  we  dead  awaken. 

Yes,  what  see  you  there? 

We  see,  that  we  have  never  lived. 

We  observe,  again  and  again,  Ibsen's  stereoscopic 
imagination  functioning  brilliantly  in  the  shaping  and 
evolutional  formation  of  character.  With  all  the 
art  of  a  finished  worker  in  mosaic,  Ibsen  bit  by  bit 


HENRIK  IBSEN  183 

discovers  hidden  traits  and  qualities,  gives  form  and 
motive  to  his  dramatic  figures.  The  first  drafts 
show  the  characters  moving  about  with  less  volitional 
activity  than  they  display  in  the  completed  play, 
much  as  a  person  acting  under  mesmeric  control 
differs  from  the  normally  active  individual. 

Once  Ibsen  had  grasped  the  individual  in  full 
significance,  knew  her  or  him  as  he  might  know  his 
own  flesh  and  blood,  the  rest  came  easily,  almost 
mechanically.  The  inscenation,  the  dramatic  en- 
semble, gradually  took  shape  — "  composed,"  to  use 
the  artist's  term  —  as  if  of  its  own  volition.  It  is 
this  which  makes  the  dramas  of  Ibsen  so  supremely 
great:  the  characters  are  not  the  creatures  of  the 
situation,  as  in  Scribe  and  Sardou,  but  the  situation 
—  the  plot  —  is  the  inevitable  consequence  of  the 
characters.  This  it  is,  which  gives  to  the  plays  of 
Ibsen,  as  Bernard  Shaw  has  acutely  put  it,  the  qual- 
ity of  "  illumination  of  life  " —  Imparting  final  veri- 
similitude to  the  discussions  of  conduct,  unveiling  of 
motives,  conflicts  of  characters,  laying  bare  of  souls. 
Here  comes  Into  full  play  what  Rossetti  termed 
"  fundamental  brain-work  '* :  the  working  up  of  ma- 
terial in  situation,  In  characterization  and  psychol- 
ogy. In  the  final  forms,  Ibsen  eliminates  the  su- 
perfluous accessory  figures,  lops  away  auxiliary 
motives,  heightens  the  dramatic  effect  of  the  situa- 
tions, and  rejects  all  that  Is  coincidental  and  ad- 
v^titlous  in  the  mechanism. 


1 84  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

VI 

A  study  of  the  prose  plays  brings  to  light 
interesting  fact  that,  in  general,  the  complete  mean- 
ing of  a  play  was  never  definitely  fixed  in  Ibsen's 
mind  until  the  ultimate  draft,  in  spotless  purity  and 
perfection  of  chirography  was  finished.  In  certain 
cases  the  original  title  which  Ibsen  employed  was 
not  the  title  he  finally  adopted:  Svanhild  for  The 
Comedy  of  Love,  White  Horses  for  Rosmersholm, 
and  Resurrection  Day  for  When  We  Dead 
Awaken,^  Ibsen  once  remarked  to  M.  V.  Conrad 
in  connection  with  The  Lady  From  the  Sea  —  and  It 
seems  to  have  been  true  in  general  —  that  he  did 
not  know  what  the  title  was  going  to  be,  as  he  had 
one  more  act  still  to  write.  "  I  find  my  title  at  the 
end,"  he  said.  It  Is  much  the  same  with  the  names 
of  his  characters,  which  change  with  such  rapidity  In 
the  rough  drafts  or  fragments  that  one  is  continually 
brought  up  wondering  at  some  new  character,  who 
yet  seems  so  familiar.  To  cite  a  random  Illustration 
in.  Rosmersholm,  Kroll  first  appears  as  Hekman, 
then  as  Gylling;  Ulrik  Brendel  next  takes  the  name 
of  Hekman,  borrows  from  Rosmer  the  name  of 
Rosenhjelm,  appears  next  as  Sejerhjelm,  and  again 
as  Hetman;  Rosmer  assumes  In  succession  the  names 

1  Ibsen  abandoned  the  title  of  White  Horses  in  favor  of  Ros- 
mersholm, probably  because,  a  short  time  before,  he  had  era- 
ployed  a  symbolic  titl?  for  The  Wild  Duck, 


HENRIK  IBSEN  185 

of  Boldt-Romer  —  a  union  of  two  old  Norwegian 
noble  names;  Rosenhjelm;  from  Romer  and  Rosen- 
hjelm  In  conjunction  comes  Rosmer  —  first  with  the 
surname  Ellert  Alfred  (reminiscent  of  Hedda 
Gabler  and  Little  Eyolf,  forework) ,  then  with  that 
of  Johannes.  In  the  first  act  the  adventuress  ap- 
pears as  Frau  Rosmer,  next  changes  to  Fraulein 
Radeck,  then  Badeck;  again  appears  as  Frau  Agatha 
Rosmer,  next  as  Frau  Rebekka,  then  as  Fraulein 
Dankert,  and  In  the  third  act  finally  as  Fraulein 
Rebekka  West.  This  matter  of  names  may  seem 
trivial;  but  It  should  be  recalled  that  Ibsen  ex- 
pressed the  conviction  that  there  was  a  sort  of  hid- 
den relation  between  name  and  character.  And 
who  has  not  remarked  the  appropriateness  of 
Stockmann  for  the  obstinate,  stiff-necked  doctor  In 
An  Enemy  of  the  People,  of  Rummel  for  the  noisy 
boaster  In  The  League  of  Youth,  of  Maja  for  the 
blithe  Impersonation  of  the  spring  month  In  When 
We  Dead  Awaken?  Ibsen  left  unstudied  no  detail 
which  might  contribute  to  the  mood,  the  form,  or 
the  carrying  power  of  his  plays. 

VII 

The  original  fragments  of  dialogue,  as  they  first 
occurred  to  Ibsen,  seem  not  to  have  been  preserved. 
But  the  fragments  that  are  preserved  show  these 
bits  of  dialogue  thrown  together  In  the  form  of  acts, 
scenes,  or  even  portions  of  scenes.     The  fused  por- 


YS6         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tions  of  The  League  of  Youth,  A  DoWs  House, 
The  Lady  From  the  Sea,  Little  Eyolf  and  When 
We  Dead  Awaken  are,  almost  certainly,  first  forms 
of  this  nature;  probably  this  Is  also  true  of  RosmerS' 
holm.  The  Master-Builder  and  John  Gabriel  Bork' 
man.  After  he  had  begun  the  development  of  a 
drama,  Ibsen  usually  employed  one  or  the  other  of 
two  methods.  One  method  was  to  take  up  each 
act  singly,  as  soon  as  It  was  ready,  work  It  over  and 
write  it  out  In  final  form  before  proceeding  to  the 
next  act.  The  other  method  was  to  go  straight 
through  with  his  composition,  and  then  go  back  and 
revise  It.  The  mornings  he  was  In  the  habit  of  de- 
voting to  the  worklng-up  of  his  dramatic  material, 
the  afternoons  to  the  making  of  a  "  fair  copy  "  of 
the  completed  portions.  Ibsen  certainly  employed 
the  first  method  In  The  League  of  Youth  —  the 
traces  of  which  may  readily  be  discerned  In  the  un- 
evenness  of  the  dialogue  of  the  finished  play.  He 
actually  made  a  fair  copy  of  the  first  act  of  The 
Pillars  of  Society  after  the  original  working  up  of 
the  whole  play  —  with  the  disappointing  result  that 
he  had  to  discard  all  his  already  worked-up  material. 
In  consequence  of  this  disastrous  experience,  he  ever 
afterwards  seems  to  have  employed  the  plan  of  com- 
pletely finishing  a  play  before  proceeding  to  the 
final  drafting. 


HENRIK  IBSEN  187 

VIII 
The  transcendent  genius  of  Ibsen  is  revealed,  not 
primarily  in  the  sureness  of  Instinct  with  which  he 
rejected  the  superfluous,  the  marvellous  taste  re- 
vealed In  the  deletion  of  the  obvious  or  the  ques- 
tionable, the  lopping  off  of  the  auxiliary  characters 
which  diffuse  rather  than  concentrate  the  action. 
Nor  can  it  be  said  that  Ibsen's  technique,  with  all 
its  finish  and  classic  restraint,  is  his  most  remarkable 
quality  as  a  dramatist.  His  plays,  as  Henry  James 
phrased  It,  are  "infinitely  noted,**  revealing  the  ulti- 
mate refinement  of  the  critical  and  creative  tempera- 
ments In  fortunate  conjunction.  His  observation 
was  unerring;  and  his  power  of  visualizing  the  scene 
was  so  perfected  that  he  never  felt  the  necessity  to 
enter  the  theatre  or  to  study  the  drama  In  Its  nat- 
ural environment.  These  qualities,  alone  and  in 
themselves,  were  sufficient  to  make  of  Ibsen  perhaps 
the  most  deft  technician,  all  things  considered,  that 
any  age  has  known.  Ibsen  knew  quite  enough  sci- 
ence for  his  purpose;  and  his  grasp  of  the  funda- 
mental weakness  of  modern  life  gives  to  his  plays 
the  character  of  sociological  documents.  But  the 
quality  which  gives  permanence  and  enduring  va- 
lidity to  Ibsen  as  a  dramatist  is  the  quality  of  psy- 
chological intuition.  His  power  of  penetrating  into 
the  brains  and  hearts  of  men,  searching  out  their 
secrets,  and  projecting  authentically  veracious  and 


1 88  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


fa^^ 


human    representations    of    human    character 
transcends  all  his  other  powers. 

Nowhere  does  Ibsen's  art  as  a  dramatist  more 
signally  reveal  itself  than  in  the  comparison  of  the 
preliminary  studies  for  his  modern  social  dramas 
with  the  completed  plays  themselves.  Here  we  are 
enabled  to  espy  the  great  dramatist  like  a  spider  in 
his  den,  spinning  out  the  line-drawn  threads  of  the 
complicated  web  of  dramatic  conjuncture  and  spir- 
itual crisis.  The  final  forms,  as  compared  with  the 
"  foreworks,"  display  immense  economy  of  material,^ 
compression  of  thought,  and  complication  of  motive. 
A  situation  which,  in  some  rought  draft,  appears 
somewhat  commonplace,  begins  gradually  to  take  on 
lively  significance.  The  atmosphere  becomes  sur- 
charged with  suppressed  emotion;  the  characters 
thrill  with  tense  excitement;  and  there  are  lapses 
and  pauses  full  of  implication  to  replace  the  diffuse 
explication  of  the  original  dialogue.  The  rough 
draft  lacks  color  and  atmosphere;  the  final  form  is 
a  dramatized  mood  to  which  the  human  symphonic 
orchestra  is  delicately  attuned. 

An  admirable  example  is  furnished  in  the  case  of 
A  DolVs  House,  It  is  noteworthy  that  Ibsen  is  here 
primarily  concerned  with  the  woman  question;  and 
his  first  inclination  was  to  exhibit  this  clearly,  at 
the  same  time  showing  Nora's  ignorance  of  and 
indifference  to  this  question  as  a  burning  social  prob- 


HENRIK  IBSEN  189 

lem.  In  the  final  version,  the  following  Interesting 
bit  of  dialogue  In  the  preliminary  draft  has  been 
deleted  —  doubtless  because  It  called  attention  too 
obviously,  too  extraneously,  shall  we  say,  to  the 
play's  thesis. 

Nora:  When  an  unhappy  wife  is  separated  from  her 
husband  she  is  not  allowed  to  keep  her  children?  Is  that 
really  so? 

Mrs.  Linden:  Yes,  I  think  so.  That's  to  say,  if  she's 
guilty. 

Nora:  Oh,  guilty,  guilty;  what  does  it  mean  to  be 
guilty?     Has  a  wife  no  right  to  love  her  husband? 

Mrs.  Linden:  Yes,  precisely,  her  husband  —  and  him 
only. 

Nora:  Why,  of  course;  who  was  thinking  of  anything 
else?  But  that  law  is  unjust,  Kristina.  You  can  see 
clearly  that  it  is  the  men  that  have  made  it. 

Mrs.  Linden:  Aha!  —  so  you  have  begun  to  take  up 
the  woman  question? 

Nora:     No,  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  it. 

In  The  League  of  Youth,  and  even  in  The  Pil- 
lars of  Society,  with  their  omnipresent  Intrigue,  their 
occasional  Intervention  of  the  long  arm  of  coinci- 
dence, their  elaborate  auxiliary  plots,  Ibsen  has  not 
yet  succeeded  In  freeing  himself  from  the  Influence 
of  the  artificial  methods  of  Scribe  and  the  French 
school  of  drama.  So,  In  the  preliminary  draft  for 
A  Doirs  House,   Dr,   Rank,   under   the   name   of 


I90         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS         H 

Hank,  appears  as  a  perfectly  needless  character, 
mechanically  filling  In  the  gaps  and  having  no  or- 
ganic relation  to  the  plot.  He  Is  a  weak  survival 
of  the  classical  confidant,  a  futile  raisonneiir  on| 
the  most  artificial  kind.  At  the  time  he  was  writ- ' 
ing  A  DolVs  House,  it  seems  that  Ibsen  was  full  of 
the  Ideas  of  Darwin,  whose  works  he  probably  had 
recently  read  —  the  Origin  of  Species  (1872)  and 
the  Descent  of  Man  (1875)  having  both  been  trans- 
lated by  the  Danish  author,  Jens  Peter  Jacobsen. 
So  Ibsen  employs  Dr.  Hank  solely  as  the  mouth- 
piece for  the  Darwinian  ideas  of  evolution  —  as  ex- 
hibited in  the  following  two  passages,  both  of  which 
arc  deleted  In  the  final  version. 


Hank:  Hallo!  what's  this?  A  new  carpet?  I  con- 
gratulate you!  Now  take,  for  example,  a  handsome  carpet 
like  this  —  is  it  a  luxury?  I  say  It  isn't.  Such  a  carpet 
is  a  paying  investment;  with  it  under  foot,  one  has 
higher,  subtler  thoughts,  and  finer  feelings,  than  when  one 
moves  over  cold,  creaking  planks  in  a  comfortless  room. 
Especially  where  there  are  children  in  the  house.  The  race 
ennobles  itself  in  a  beautiful  environment. 

Nora:  Oh,  how  often  I  have  felt  the  same,  but  could 
never  express  it! 

Hank:     No,  I  daresay  not.     It  is  an  observation  in  spiri- 
tual statistics  —  a  science  as  yet  very  little  cultivated. 
*♦**#*** 

If  Krogstad's  home  had  been,  so  to  speak,  on  the  sunny 
side  of  life,  with  all  the  spiritual  windows  opening  toward 


d 


HENRIK  IBSEN  191 

the  light  —  I  daresay  he  might  have  been  a  decent  enough 
fellow,  like  the  rest  of  us. 

Mrs.  Linden:    You  mean  that  he  is  not — ? 

Hank:  He  cannot  be.  His  marriage  was  not  of  the 
kind  to  make  it  possible.  An  unhappy  marriage,  Mrs. 
Linden,  is  like  smallpox:     It  scars  the  soul. 

Nora:     And  what  does  a  happy  marriage  do? 

Hank:  It  is  like  a  "cure"  at  the  baths;  it  expels  all 
peccant  humors,  and  makes  all  that  is  good  and  fine  in  a 
man  grow  and  flourish. 

It  IS  a  mark  of  Ibsen's  skill  that  he  invents  Dr. 
Rank's  malady  —  like  Krogstad's  moral  downfall  — 
as  an  illustration  of  his  favorite  theme  in  future 
drama,  Responsibility.  Thereby  Nora's  eyes  are 
gradually  opened  to  the  significance  of  her  responsi- 
bility to  her  children,  and  so,  through  this  trans- 
formation Dr.  Rank,  as  family  physician  and  per- 
sonal friend,  takes  on  a  unique  relation  to  the  de- 
velopment of  Nora's  conscience. 

Many  empty  sayings,  many  superfluous  motives  in 
the  earlier  draft  are  transposed  In  the  final  form 
into  terms  of  spiritual  development  and  character 
exposure.  In  the  first  draft,  after  Helmer  has  read 
Krogstad's  letter  returning  the  forged  note,  he  cries, 
"  You  are  saved,  Nora,  you  are  saved  " ;  In  the  final 
form,  with  what  singular  clarity  is  Helmer's  irre- 
deemable selfishness  caught  in  the  changed  phrase, 
"  /  am  saved,  Nora,  /  am  saved  I  "  In  the  prelim- 
inary draft,  there  is  no  trace  of  the  oft-quoted  ques- 


192  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tion  and  answer  with  which,  as  by  a  lightning  flash, 
Ibsen  reveals  the  abyss  which  has  suddenly  yawned 
between  Nora  and  Helmer: 

Helmer:  I  would  gladly  work  for  you  night  and  day, 
Nora  —  bear  sorrow  and  want  for  your  sake.  No  man 
sacrifices  his  honor,  even  for  one  he  loves. 

Nora:     Millions  of  women  have  done  so. 

Nora's  inordinate  fondness  for  macaroons,  so  in- 
dicative of  her  childish  nature,  is  an  afterthought; 
and  there  is  but  the  barest  indication  of  her  tend- 
ency to  fibbing,  so  admirably  accentuated  in  the 
final  form  as  an  instance  of  the  transmission  of 
hereditary  characteristics.  In  the  final  form,  the 
incident  of  the  tarantella  is  naturally  introduced  — 
whereas,  in  the  preliminary  draft,  it  appears  to  be 
lugged  in  as  a  mere  concession  to  the  popular  taste 
for  theatricality;  and  natural  causes  are  finally  as- 
signed for  Nora's  success  in  deceiving  Helmer  about 
her  furtive  copying.  Further  instances  are  unneces- 
sary for  demonstrating  Ibsen's  perfection  of  crafts- 
manship in  his  transmutation  and  re-adaptation  of 
the  apparently  trivial,  yet  character-revealing  inci- 
dents in  the  play. 

IX 

A  DoWs  House f  in  the  course  of  its  development, 
exhibits  admirably  the  various  mental  stages  through 
which  Ibsen    passed  in  the  creation  of  a  drama. 


i 


HENRIK  IBSEN  193 

We  note  how  Ibsen  makes  experiments  and  ac- 
knowledges failure;  goes  Into  blind  alleys  and  Is 
forced  to  retrace  his  steps;  gradually  develops  and 
complicates  the  motives  of  his  characters;  and  ulti- 
mately exhibits  the  situation  as  the  Inevitable  out- 
come of  the  psychology.  A  study  of  the  foreworks 
reveals  salient  examples  on  every  hand.  In  The 
Pillars  of  Society  Ibsen  exhibits  his  power  of  con- 
densation, In  dropping  the  figures  of  Mads  Tonne- 
sen,  Johan's  father,  Consul  Bernlck's  blind  mother, 
and  DIna  Dorfs  mother;  and  his  economy  of  tech- 
nique Is  portrayed  In  having  Johan  Tonnesen  and 
Lona  Hessel  go  to  America  together  and  return,  to- 
gether, rather  than  act  In  the  haphazard  ways  of 
the  first  draft.  From  a  dull,  simple  child  in  the 
forework,  Hedwig  In  The  Wild  Duck  is  trans- 
formed, as  If  by  a  magician's  wand.  Into  a  sweet, 
loving.  Infinitely  tender  daughter ;  and  the  real  poig- 
nancy of  her  tragedy  Is  unforgettably  fixed  in  the 
Imagination  by  the  introduction  of  the  presaged 
darkness  of  her  coming  blindness.  By  this  simple 
expedient,  Ibsen  vastly  deepens  the  tragedy;  and  the 
suspicious  connection  of  Hedwig's  threatened  blind- 
ness with  the  falling  eyesight  of  the  old  Werle 
tightens  the  cords  of  suspicion  already  tense  to  burst- 
ing in  Hjalmar's  breast.  In  the  cast  of  characters, 
in  the  foreworks  to  Rosmersholm,  Rebekka  is  de- 
picted merely  as  "  somewhat  unscrupulous,  but  in  a 
refined  way  " ;  and  in  the  preliminary  memorandum, 


194  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

It  is  stated  that,  in  Rebekka^s  pursuit  of  Rosmer, 
there  is  cause  for  misery  and  unhappiness.  In  the 
finished  play,  these  two  concepts  are  brought  Into 
psychological  harmony,  by  making  Rebekka  the  evil 
genius  who,  In  her  passion  for  Rosmer,  does  not 
scruple,  by  diabolic  and  repeated  Insinuations,  to 
drive  the  weak-minded,  sick-souled  Beata  Into  the 
mill  race.  In  the  first  draft  of  Little  Eyolf,  Miss 
Varg,  the  old  "  were-wolf,"  Is  Johanna's  (Rita's) 
aunt;  and  she  possesses  little  of  the  symbolic  mean- 
ing and  hypnotic  power  of  the  finished  figure.  The 
subtlety  with  which  Ibsen  has  made  of  the  "  rat- 
wife  "  a  figure  of  lasting  mystery  and  horror,  an 
impersonation  of  Death  Itself,  is  an  irresistible  re- 
minder of  the  weird  magic  of  the  author  of  The 
Marble  Faun.  The  "  secrets  of  the  alcove "  re- 
vealed In  the  completed  play  furnish  the  real  cause 
and  motive  for  the  mutual  estrangement  of  Eyolf's 
father  and  mother;  and  the  memorable  phrase, 
"  There  stood  your  champagne  —  and  you  tasted  It 
not,"  was  a  brilliant,  strong  afterthought.  The  pre- 
liminary draft  of  Hedda  Gahler  Is  conspicuous  for 
the  absence  of  that  magic  phrase,  "  vine  leaves  in 
his  hair,"  with  which  the  erotic  Hedda  always  con- 
jures up  a  Bacchanalian  image  of  the  daemonic 
Lovborg.  And  that  potent  formula,  **  Liberty  with 
Responsibility,"  the  one  clue  to  the  destruction  of 
Elllda's  obsession  (though  even  in  the  finished  play 
it  gives  a   schematic  note  to  the  denouement)    is 


HENRIK  IBSEN  195 

found  nowhere  In  the  forework  to  The  Lady  From 
the  Sea,  In  many  of  the  finished  plays  are  mem- 
orable phrases  and  situations  which  fix  the  fancy 
and  knit  the  action  and  the  characters  closer  to- 
gether; while  from  the  preliminary  drafts  are  gone 
numerous  details  which  too  strongly  accentuate  the 
thesis  or  are  In  themselves,  though  Intrinsically  in- 
teresting, dramatically  extraneous. 

Ibsen's  efforts  at  the  emancipation  of  modern  so- 
ciety Inevitably  took  the  form  of  life-struggles.  It  is 
to  the  enduring  profit  of  the  stage  that  these  life- 
struggles  always  presented  themselves  to  Ibsen  as 
dramas.  And  everywhere,  In  the  study  of  his  post- 
humous works,  we  gain  the  Impression  of  a  mighty 
Intensity  at  work,  creating,  re-creating.  Every- 
where refinement,  everywhere  complication  of  mo- 
tive, everywhere  Increase  in  psychological  depth  and 
richness.  Superficial  incidents  of  the  exterior  life  are 
sublimated  Into  vitally  revealing  incidents  of  the 
Inner  life.  Ibsen  now  stands  forth  in  a  new  light  as 
a  dramatist.  Every  play  appears  as  a  marvellous 
result  of  artistic  compression  and  selection.  Every 
play  Is  Individual  and  distinctive;  and  yet  all  are 
linked  together  with  Invisible,  hidden  motives.  All 
rest  upon  the  indestructible  foundation  of  permanent, 
enduring  art. 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 


**  Indeed,  it  is  not  in  the  actions  but  in  the  worST 
that  are  found  the  beauty  and  greatness  of  tragedies 
that  are  truly  beautiful  and  great;  and  this  not 
solely  in  the  words  that  accompany  and  explain  the 
action,  for  there  must  perforce  be  another  dialogue 
beside  the  one  which  is  superficially  necessary. 
And,  indeed,  the  only  words  that  count  in  the  play 
are  those  that  at  first  seemed  useless,  for  it  is  therein 
that  the  essence  lies.  Side  by  side  with  the  neces- 
sary dialogue  will  you  almost  always  find  an- 
other dialogue  that  seems  superfluous ;  but  examine 
it  carefully,  and  it  will  be  borne  home  to  you  that 
this  is  the  only  one  that  the  soul  can  listen  to  pro- 
foundly, for  here  alone  is  it  the  soul  that  is  being 
addressed.** 

Maurice  Maeterlinck :  The  Tragical  in  Daily  Life; 
from  The  Treasure  of  the  Humble;  p.  iii. 


t 

i 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

The  closing  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  exhibits 
no  marvellous  and  immutable  fixations  in  the  sphere 
of  consciousness.  Like  all  the  other  epochs,  it  has 
been  a  period  of  flux  and  reflux,  of  ebb  and  flow,  of 
mutation  and  transmutation.  Any  well-marked 
devolution  in  the  forms  of  literary  art,  in  the  eth- 
ical and  philosophical  expressions  of  human  con- 
sciousness, has  been  checked  by  countercurrents, 
setting  contrariwise,  towards  light,  freedom,  spir- 
ituality, truth. 

The  keen  psychologist,  intent  upon  the  analy- 
sis of  the  intricate  and  devious  workings  of  the 
mind,  the  intellect,  and  the  human  heart,  first  held 
the  world's  gaze  for  a  space;  his  day  is  not  yet  done. 
He  was  succeeded  by  the  Naturalist  —  bare  of  arm, 
merciless  knife  in  hand,  waiting  to  dissect  with  surgi- 
cal precision  his  human  victim.  Then  came  the 
dilettante  poco-curantists,  the  pastel  Impressionists, 
reproducing  with  effects  of  elusive  significance  the 
outermost  details  of  life,  with  their  suggestions  of 
depths  and  abysms  of  thought  and  feeling.  Here 
was  change  in  literary  art  ideals;  but  was  it  a  pro- 
gression or  a  retrogression?     Realism  was  followed 

X99 


200 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


by  Its  bastard  progeny,  Naturalism,  to  be  followed  In 
its  turn  by  Realism's  remotest  of  artistic  relations, 
Impressionism.  Psychology  Is  replaced  by  physiol- 
ogy, and  subsequently  by  photography;  there  Is  dev- 
olution here,  and  the  devolution  Is  from  the  actual 
to  the  artificial  —  mind,  body.  Integument. 

Just  as,  in  the  physical  world,  to  every  action  cor-5 
responds  a  reaction,  so  may  we  expect  the  law  of 
tidal  ebb  and  flow  In  the  sphere  of  literary  phe- 
nomena. Edmond  Rostand  arose  in  France  with 
romance  as  his  watchword.  Forthwith  the  French 
world  forsook  Zolaism  and  crowned  Rostand  with 
the  laurels  of  genius.  Stephen  Phillips  in  England, 
a  shining  apparition  in  a  gray  world  of  naturalism, 
only  accentuated  the  swing  of  the  pendulum  away 
from  the  pseudo-social  and  imperfectly  truthful 
drama  of  Pinero.  A  generation  sated  with  honeyed 
sentiment  and  pointless  pruriency  sits  up  with  re- 
newed vigor  to  listen  to  the  provocative  quips,  the 
sovereign  satire  of  Bernard  Shaw.  Maurice  Mae- 
terlinck, at  the  very  crest  of  the  wave  of  reaction, 
marks  the  return  from  the  coarse  and  the  artificial 
to  the  spiritual  and  the  true.  He  turns  from  the 
realism  of  Hauptmann  and  Sudermann  to  the 
mysticism  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  Ruysbroeck,  Novalls, 
and  Thomas  a  Kempis;  from  the  naturalism  of  Zola 
and  D'Annunzio  to  the  supernaturalism  of  Guy  de 
Maupassant  and  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Individualism  Is  the  most  resonant  note  in  the 


^Sl 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         201 

symphony  of  modern  thought;  and  individualism 
and  reaction  in  philosophy  rang  out  the  dying  years 
of  the  last  century.  To-day  the  three  names  that 
are  emblazoned  on  the  oriflamme  of  Revolt  are 
Friedrich  Nietzsche,  Henrik  Ibsen,  and  Maurice 
Maeterlinck.  Their  supreme  distinction  is  mo- 
dernity —  in  art.  In  vitality  of  thought,  In  form  of  ex- 
pression. Each  in  his  particular  sphere,  they  repre- 
sent what  Nietzsche  has  called  the  link  between 
Man  and  Superman,  between  Man  as  he  Is  and  Man 
as  they  would  have  him  to  be.  Under  their  guid- 
ance man  may  be  enabled  to  "  rise  above  himself  to 
himself  and  cloudlessly  to  smile."  They  represent 
the  restless,  throbbing,  unquiet  spirit  of  the  age. 
They  stand  forth  as  apostles  of  regeneration  —  the 
physical,  mental  and  spiritual  regeneration  of  the 
individual.  Each  one  soars  over  the  most  novel 
spheres  of  thought,  truth^s  red  torch  aflame  within 
his  brain.  It  Is  by  that  ruddy  and  clarifying  light 
that  we  shall  see  our  way  clearly.  Stockmann, 
Monna  Vanna,  and  Zarathustra  eloquently  attest 
humanity's  struggle  towards  the  light. 

Advancing  along  strikingly  distinct  paths  and 
unique  each  In  his  view  of  life,  nevertheless  these 
three  men  —  Nietzsche,  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck  —  in 
reality  are  following  radiating  lines  which  converge 
towards  some  far  distant  point.  They  follow  the 
so-called  parallel  lines  of  human  endeavor  which  are 
said  to  meet  at  some  Utopian  Infinity.     In  his  millen- 


\ 


202  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

nial  philosophy  of  the  Uebermensch,  the  late  Fried- 
rich  Nietzsche  —  poet,  philosopher,  and  prophet 
—  symbolizes  the  reaction  of  dynamism  from  the 
mechanism  of  Darwin,  of  aristocratic  anarchy 
against  the  levelism  of  the  age.  The  divinity  of 
Nietzsche's  rhapsody  is  not  a  subject  for  Bertlllon 
or  Lombroso,  but  the  "  roaming,  blond  animal," 
created  through  the  felicitous  conjunction  of  man's 
cunning  and  Nature's  process.  The  supreme  ex- 
altation of  the  individual,  thus  spake  Zarathustra. 

Henrik  Ibsen  in  his  dramas  of  revolt  flung  de- 
fiance in  the  teeth  of  modern  society.  That 
trenchant  sentence,  "  The  majority  is  always  wrong," 
seems  to  sum  up  his  message  to  humanity.  He  has 
taught  the  final  efficacy  and  supremacy  of  will;  but 
his  doctrine  involves  the  salutary  concession  that 
"  submission  is  the  base  of  perfection."  He  stands 
out  in  grim  aloofness  the  apostle  of  individual  free- 
dom —  freedom  of  choice,  freedom  of  the  will,  free- 
dom from  the  false  conventions  and  trammels  of  so- 
ciety. He  has  etched  his  own  personality  Into  the 
century's  page  with  the  corrosive  acid  of  his  mordant 
irony. 

Maurice  Maeterlinck  —  poet,  mystic,  transcen- 
dentalist  —  comes  with  gentle  words  of  wise  and  as- 
piring sincerity  to  impress  upon  the  world  the  belief 
that  the  development  and  disclosure  of  the  human 
soul   is   the   ultimate   aim   and   goal   of   existence. 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK  203 

Marking  the  spiritual  reaction  from  the  blatant 
bestiality  of  Zolaism,  he  seeks  to  realize  the  Infinite, 
to  know  the  unknowable,  to  express  the  Inexpressible. 
"  Oh,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt !  "  Is  his 
eternal  prayer.  He  Is  Individualistic  In  the  sense  • 
that  he  Is  unique  and  essentially  modern,  not  ex- 
plainable as  a  product  of  the  age,  but  rather  as  a 
reactionary,  hostile  to  all  Its  materialistic  tendencies. 
He  heralds  the  dawn  of  a  spiritual  renascence. 


Maeterlinck's  first  little  volume  of  lyrics.  Serves 
Chaudes,  expressive  of  his  initial  manner,  most  com- 
pletely Identifies  him  with  that  band  of  poets  and 
mystics  in  France  known  as  the  Symbolists.  There 
Is  no  greater  mistake  than  that  of  supposing  that 
the  wide  hearing  he  has  gained  Is  attributable  to  the 
peculiar  eccentricities  of  his  style,  the  novelties  in 
literary  form  he  has  employed,  or  the  seeming  in- 
anities or  solemn  mystifications  of  his  poetry.  At 
first  there  was  about  him  a  trace  of  the  fumisterie, 
that  air  of  solemn  shamming,  which  has  helped  to 
make  the  Parisian  "  Cymbalists  "  (as  Verlaine  loved 
to  call  them)  a  jest  and  a  mockery.  Perhaps  he 
first  caught  the  most  obvious  tricks  of  his  style, 
those  very  idiosyncrasies  his  own  fine  instinct  has 
since  taught  him  to  discard  from  the  school  of  Mal- 
larme,  Viele-Grifiin  and  Regnler.     Yet  the  reiterant 


f 


204  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ejaculations,   the   hyperethereal   Imaginings   of 
Symbolist  manner,  are  the  symptoms  of  a  tentatlvi 
talent,  not  of  an  authoritative  art. 

Symbolism  —  the  casting  of  the  immaterial 
thought  into  the  material  mold  of  speech,  to  use  the 
word  in  a  broad  connotation  —  marks  the  corre- 
spondence between  the  outward  visible  sign  and  the 
inward  spiritual  idea.  One  must  distinguish  with 
the  greatest  care  between  the  Symbolism  of  the 
French  school  and  that  of  Ibsen,  of  Hauptmann,  or 
of  D'Annunzio.  The  point  of  departure  for  the  art 
of  the  French  Symbolists  was  the  effort,  by  tricks 
of  sound  and  rhythm,  of  figure  and  image,  by  allusion 
and  suggestion,  to  cast  a  languorous  spell  over  the 
reader,  evoking  rare  and  fleeting  emotions,  producing 
strange  and  Indefinable  impressions.  As  Henri  de 
Regnier  expresses  It :  **  It  Is  the  function  of  the  poet 
to  express  his  own  emotions.  He  realizes  that  his 
Ideas  are  beautiful.  He  would  convey  them  to  the 
reader  as  they  are.  It  is  then  that  the  power  of 
common  speech  forces  him  to  place  known  words 
in  uncommon  sequence  or  to  resurrect  an  archaism 
that  his  idea  may  be  better  expressed.  He  Is  in  no 
sense  an  analyst  of  the  emotions  but  an  artist,  pure 
and  simple;  his  function  Is  not  with  life  and  nature, 
but  with  the  imagination."  A  Symbolist  in  this 
sense  Is  an  artist  who  finds  the  words  at  his  com- 
mand inadequate  clearly  to  express  his  emotions, 
and  Is  therefore  compelled  to  employ  words  as  sym- 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         205 

bols,  deeply  suggestive  in  their  meaning.  It  is  ap- 
parent that,  with  the  Symbolists,  the  simplest  words, 
the  homeliest  figures,  may  take  on  untold  signifi- 
cance. The  poetry  of  the  Symbolists  is  character- 
ized by  peculiar,  haunting  and  elusive  beauty  and 
destined  for  the  profoundest  suggestiveness ;  but 
quite  too  often,  it  must  be  confessed,  conveying  no 
meaning  at  all  to  anyone  save  to  the  initiated. 

To  compare  Maeterlinck's  early  poems  with  the 
**  unrhymed,  loose  rhythmic  prose  "  of  Walt  Whit- 
man is  to  make  a  perfectly  obvious  and  yet  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  Irrelevant  criticism.  While 
both  are  disjointed,  formless,  enumerative,  Maeter- 
linck's every  line  is  charged  with  a  certain  vague 
significance,  suggestive  of  subtile  and  ever  subtler 
possibilities  of  Interest.  Take  a  passage  from  Ser- 
res  Chaudes  like  the  following: 

"  O  hothouse  in  the  midst  of  the  forests ! 
And  your  doors  shut  forever! 
And  all  that  there  is  under  your  dome, 
And  under  my  soul  in  your  likeness! 
The  thoughts  of  a  princess  an-hungered, 
The  weariness  of  a  sailor  in  the  wilderness, 
Brazen  music  at  the  windows  of  Incurables." 

Is  this  pompous  mystification  or  profound  poetry? 
Is  it  sense?  As  Bernard  Shaw  would  say:  "  Is  It 
right,  is  it  proper.  Is  it  decent?  "  And  yet  the  mor- 
bid mind  of  modernity  sighs  through  it  all:  he  is 


2o6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

excluded  by  very  reason  of  his  supersensitive,  exotic 
soul  from  spontaneous  and  untrammelled  com- 
munication with  nature.  Witness  the  poignant 
image  of  the  princess,  born  In  affluence  suffering  the 
unimaglned  pangs  of  hunger.  The  Isolation  and 
hopelessness  are  accentuated  by  the  figure  of  the 
sailor,  longing  for  the  cool  waves  and  bracing  salt 
breezes  of  health,  as  he  wanders  with  parched  throat 
over  the  hot  sand  of  the  endless  desert.  What 
more  laconically  modern  symbol  than  that  of  a  brass 
band  passing  under  the  windows  of  a  hospital  for 
incurables  I  Lonely  souls  are  these  so  laconically 
sketched,  obsessed  with  world-weariness,  harassed  ™ 
with  morbid  self-distrust  and  uncertain  of  a  goal.        H 

As  an  illustration  of  the  beauty  and  finish  and 
simplicity  of  Maeterlinck's  art  as  a  poet,  at  Its  high- 
est and  least  symbolical  pitch,  may  be  cited  Richard 
Hovey's  translation  of  Maeterlinck's  unnamed 
poem : 


"  And  if  some  day  he  come  back 
What  shall  he  be  told? 
Tell  him  that  I  waited, 
Till  my  heart  was  cold. 

"  And  if  he  ask  me  yet  again, 
Not  recognizing  me, 
Speak  him  fair  and  sisterly, 
His  heart  breaks,  maybe. 


1 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         207 

"  And  If  he  asks  me  where  you  are, 
What   shall   I    reply? 
Give  him  my  golden  ring 
And  make  no  reply. 

"  And  if  he  should  ask  mc 

Why  the  hall  is  left  desolate? 
Show  him  the  unlit  lamp, 
And  point  to  the  open  gate. 

"  And  if  he  should  ask  me 
How  you  fell  asleep? 
Tell  him  that  I  smiled, 

For  fear  lest  he  should  weep." 

II 

M.  Maeterlinck  owes  his  world  reputation,  not  to 
fad,  to  decadence  or  to  symbolism.  He  Is  admired 
because  he  is  the  sincerest  of  literary  artists,  because 
he  is  ever  striving  for  that  Truth  which  is  Beauty. 
His  poetry,  even  when  vaguest  and  most  mysterious 
in  its  strangely  symbolic  vesture,  leaves  always  upon 
the  mind,  or  rather  upon  the  senses,  an  Ineffaceable 
impression  of  peculiar  and  unusual  beauty.  He  can- 
not be  said  to  have  created  any  great,  distinctive,  or 
strikingly  modern  form  of  prose  writing.  Still  his 
prose  wears  a  gentle  simplicity,  and  a  pensive  appeal 
that  charms  when  the  fulmlnatlons  of  the  phantasma- 
goric imagination  tire  the  senses  and  polished  periods 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

leave  the  heart  unmoved.  Such  a  book  as  Wisdom 
and  Destiny  —  a  book  that  may  truly  be  called  noble 
—  marks  a  distinct  epoch  in  spiritual  and  cosmic 
evolution.  The  calm  philosophy  of  Marcus  Au- 
relius;  the  longings  after  the  Infinite,  If  haply  they 
may  find  it,  of  the  fourteenth  century  mystic,  Ruys- 
broeck  the  admirable,  and  the  gentle  Novalis;  the 
transcendentalism  of  the  Greek  spirit  in  our  own 
literature,  Emerson ;  the  "  second  sphere,'*  the  realm 
of  unconscious  revelation  of  the  Ibsen  of  The  Lady 
from  the  Sea  and  The  Master  Builder;  the  brood- 
ing mysticism  of  the  Shakspere  of  Hamlet  —  these 
and  other  inspiring  influences  mingle  with  and  color 
Maeterlinck's  own  conception  of  the  "  inner  life." 
If,  in  Maeterlinck's  interpretation  of  the  world- 
riddle,  there  is  one  charm  more  fascinating  than  an- 
other, it  is  his  disinterested  search  for  truth.  He  is 
never  didactic,  never  even  definitive  in  any  ultimate 
sense.  Quite  often  he  is  actually  found  contradict- 
ing himself,  consciously  doing  so,  in  the  hope  of  re- 
tracing his  steps  a  little  way,  aided  by  the  faint  glim- 
mer of  some  new  light,  until  he  enter  once  more  the 
straight  path  to  his  goal.  His  books  show  that,  in  a 
sense  rightly  understood,  he  is  a  scientific  worker, 
difficult  as  this  is  to  reconcile  with  the  vagueness  and 
groping  insecurity  of  his  mysticism.  From  the  evi- 
dence of  his  books,  M.  Maeterlinck  has  studied  the 
modern  theories  of  auto-suggestion,  hypnotism,  tel- 
epathy,  psychology,   and  psychic  phenomena.     No 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         209 

reader  of  The  Life  of  the  Bee  can  doubt  that  M. 
Maeterlinck  Is  a  scientific  worker,  although  this  ex- 
quisite social  history  is  the  work  of  an  artist  and  a 
litterateur  as  well  as  of  a  scientist.  His  works  — 
poetry,  prose,  drama  —  all  evidence  his  close  study 
and  deep  comprehension  of  modern  scientific  the- 
ories, especially  of  a  psychic  or  psychologic  char- 
acter, and  these  works  evidence  it  concretely  and 
suggestively,  but  more  often  by  mere  implication. 

It  would  be  a  serious  mistake  to  Imagine  M. 
Maeterlinck  the  mere  mouthpiece  of  the  mystics  of 
other  years.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  his  mys- 
ticism is  based  upon  a  long  and  loving  acquaintance 
with  the  greatest  mystics  of  the  past.  To  find  stand- 
ards of  comparison  for  a  phenomenon  like  the  rare 
mind  of  this  new-century  mystic,  we  have  to  seek, 
not  In  our  own,  but  In  another  age.  A  comparison 
of  M.  Maeterlinck's  philosophy  with  that  of  the 
mystics  of  the  past  shows  similarity  In  fundamentals 
to  exist  between  them.  But  to  say  that  M.  Maeter- 
linck follows  Ruysbroeck  here  or  Novalls  there.  Is 
not  an  easy  matter:  with  other  mystics  M.  Mae- 
terlinck has  in  common  only  mysticism.  The  point 
of  vantage  from  which  he  views  the  world,  the  eyes 
with  which  he  sees  it,  the  transmuting  mind,  are  all 
his  own.  Nor  has  he  studied  modern  science  — 
that  of  the  body,  the  organism,  that  of  the  mind,  the 
intelligence,  that  of  the  soul,  the  higher  emotions 
—  only  to  be  thrown  back  upon  himself  in  disap- 


210  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

pointment,  disillusionment  and  despair.  Rather,  as 
someone  has  recently  said:  "There  Is  evidence 
that  his  mysticism  is  not  so  much  a  refuge  from  the 
tyranny  of  scientific  naturalism  as  the  deliberate 
choice  of  a  man  who  finds  In  it  confirmations  of 
countless  hopes  and  suspicions  science  herself  raised 
within  him.'* 

Ill 

Much  has  been  said  In  praise  of  the  technique  of 
Maeterlinck's  first  little  no-plot  plays  —  laudatory 
classification  of  them  as  forms  of  art  absolutely  new 
under  the  sun.  Maeterlinck  was  Intimately  familiar 
with  the  cognate  work  of  his  countryman,  Charles 
van  Lerberghe;  and  to  Maeterlinck,  as  to  Baude- 
laire, Poe  was  the  master.  The  art-form  of  which 
Maeterlinck's  no-plot  plays  are  mere  dramatic 
transpositions  is  virtually  a  creation  of  the  nine- 
teenth century;  and,  with  all  their  bizarre  novelty, 
these  little  plays  appear  as  little  else,  technically, 
than  Short-stories  cast  In  the  dramatic  mould.  The 
Short-story,  as  formulated  by  Professor  Brander 
Matthews,  must  always  convey  essential  unity  of  im- 
pression —  or,  as  Poe  phrased  It,  a  totality  of  effect. 
Intensive,  cumulative  force  Is  the  most  significant 
distinction  of  this  art-form.  No  one  has  ever 
succeeded  as  a  writer  of  Short-stories  who  had  not 
ingenuity,  originality,  the  faculty  of  compression, 
and,  in  many  Instances,  the  touch  of  fantasy.     As 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         211 

an  example  of  Maeterlinck's  early  manner  in  the 
drama,  consider,  for  example,  that  wonderfully  con- 
vincing study  in  hallucination,  Maeterlinck's  Uln- 
truse  —  the  most  striking,  awe-compelling,  and, 
withal,  most  original  of  his  no-plot  plays. 

The  grandfather,  blind  and  helpless,  is  seated  in 
his  arm-chair,  with  his  three  granddaughters  around 
him.  The  old  man's  beloved  daughter  has  given 
birth  to  a  child,  and  lies  ill  in  the  inner  chamber. 
The  atmosphere  is  pregnant  with  catastrophe,  the 
senses  are  chilled  by  the  prevision  of  impending  mis- 
fortune. Overbrooded  by  anticipant  foreboding, 
the  grandfather  subconsciously  feels  the  approach, 
of  death.  His  senses,  subtile  and  acute  beyond  their 
wont  —  from  his  blindness,  perhaps  —  give  him  un- 
mistakable warning.  The  gradual  approach  of  some 
unseen  being,  the  fright  of  the  swans,  the  sudden 
hush  of  nature,  the  sound  as  of  the  sharpening  of 
a  scythe,  the  ghostly  creaking  of  the  house  door,  the 
noise  of  footsteps  on  the  stair,  the  fitful  gleams  and 
sudden  extinguishing  of  the  lamp  —  the  significance 
of  all  these  signs  and  portents  Is  divined  by  the 
blind  old  grandfather  alone.  When  finally  someone 
is  heard  to  rise  in  the  pitchy  blackness  of  the  sit- 
ting-room, the  old  man  shudders  with  peculiar  hor- 
ror. The  door  of  the  inner  chamber  opens,  and  a 
Sister  of  Charity  mutely  announces  by  a  sign  that 
his  daughter  is  dead.  The  Intruder  has  gained  ad- 
mittance. 


212 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


This  little  play,  the  dramtlc  production  of  which 
the  late  Richard  Hovey  confessed  made  an  inefface- 
able impression  upon  his  consciousness,  bears  the 
clearest  stamp  of  unity  of  impression,  of  totality  of 
effect.  The  keynote  of  Its  mood  is  cumulative 
dread;  while  Ingenuity  and  originality  are  displayed 
in  every  line  of  the  conception.  The  art  which  well- 
nigh  makes  the  Impalpable  Invade  the  realm  of  the 
tangible,  the  supernatural  to  place  one  foot  over 
the  border  line  of  the  natural,  attains  here  some- 
thing very  like  perfection.  Fantasy  fills  every  In- 
terstice of  the  play.  In  Ulntruse  as  a  psychic  con- 
cept, a  deep  and  penetrating  Insight  Into  subjective 
states  of  mind  In  direct  correspondence  with  move- 
ments in  the  supernatural  world  Is  revealed.  It 
is  not  so  much  that  Maeterlinck  has  created  a 
new  shiver,  to  quote  Hugo  on  Baudelaire,  as  that 
he  has  evoked  a  shiver  In  a  novel  and  startling 
way. 

Ulntruse  was  chosen  as  an  Illustration  of  the 
dramatized  Short-story  because  It  excels  all  the 
other  no-plot  dramas  in  power  and  Inevltableness. 
Perhaps  Les  AveugleSj  because  of  the  quiescence 
and  paralyzed  initiative  of  the  groping  blind  man, 
and  because,  too.  Its  conclusion  is  not  "  short,  sharp, 
and  shocking,'*  comes  nearer  to  a  Sketch  cast  in 
dramatic  form  than  a  dramatized  Short-story;  but 
certainly  Les  Sept  Princesses  and  Ulnterieur  are  ex- 
amples of  the  latter  form  as  clearly  as  Is  Ulntruse, 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         213 

The  artistic  kinship  of  Maeterlinck  with  Mau- 
passant and  Poe  becomes  all  the  more  patent  when 
we  recognize  Maeterlinck's  no-plot  dramas  not  only 
as  occult  studies  in  hallucination  but  as  dramatized 
versions  of  the  perfected  art-form  of  these  masters 
of  the  Short-story. 

IV 

It  is  the  fundamental  faith  of  M.  Maeterlinck 
that  the  theatre  of  to-day  needs  reorganization  and 
reformation  In  order  to  conform  to  the  subtler  de- 
mands of  the  higher  and  more  complex  life  of  our 
epoch.  The  theatre,  he  affirms,  has  for  its  supreme 
mission  the  revelation  of  Infinity,  and  of  the  gran- 
deur as  well  as  the  secret  beauty  of  life.  He  would 
have  a  theatre  in  accordance  with  modern  psychic 
demands,  giving  a  revelation  of  what  the  Parisian 
mystic  Schure  calls  the  abtmes  and  profondeurs  of 
the  soul.  Carlyle  also  pleaded  for  a  recognition  of 
what  he  called  in  his  own  speech  the  Eternities  and 
the  Immensities.  M.  Maeterlinck  would  bring  the  "% 
inner  life  of  the  soul  closer  to  us ;  he  would  push  the  f 
actors  further  off.  Thus  he  regrets  that  he  has 
ever  seen  Hamlet  performed  on  the  stage,  since  it 
robbed  him  of  his  own  conception  of  Its  mystic  sig- 
nificance. The  actor,  the  spectre  of  an  actor,  de- 
throned his  own  image  of  the  real  Hamlet.  From 
the  printed  page  starts  forth  the  old  Hamlet  of  his 
dreams  never  again. 


2 14         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

His  regret  is  for  the  loss  of  the  "  second  sphere," 
that  subconscious  realm  where  soul  speaks  to  soul 
without  the  intermediary  of  words.  He  hails  the 
coming  of  the  Renascence  of  Wonder,  the  mystic 
epoch  when  men  shall  penetrate  deep  into  the  soil  of 
their  subliminal  selves.  The  age,  which,  as  Phillips 
Brooks  once  said,  "  stands  off  and  looks  at  itself  " 
— that  age  Maeterlinck  heralds  and  summons. 
Ibsen,  too,  has  dreamed  of  this  dawning  day:  Julian 
perhaps  in  the  end  caught  some  faint  prevision  of 
the  "  third  kingdom." 

Silence  is  the  pall  that  hangs  over  the  earlier 
plays  of  Maeterlinck;  the  characters  themselves  are 
quiescent  and  immobile.  It  is  only  in  silence  that 
we  can  really  know  each  other  —  in  the  fugitive  look, 
the  chance  meeting,  the  sudden  hand-clasp.  Only 
in  such  moments  do  we  truly  come  to  know  anything 
that  is  worth  knowing.  Half  conscious  of  his  deep- 
rooted  faith  in  the  meaning  of  presentiments,  the 
significance  of  sub-conscious  revelations,  M.  Maeter- 
linck wrote  a  number  of  plays  surcharged  with  the 
impalpable  and  imponderable  weight  of  pathos  and 
groping  nescience.  "  The  keynote  of  these  little 
plays,"  he  once  wrote,  **  is  dread  of  the  unknown 
that  surrounds  us.  I,  or  rather  some  obscure  poet- 
ical feeling  within  me  (for  with  the  sincerest  of  the 
poets  a  division  must  often  be  made  between  the 
instinctive  feeling  of  their  art  and  the  thoughts  of 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         215 

their  real  life)  seemed  to  believe  in  a  species  of 
monstrous,  invisible,  fatal  power  that  gave  heed  to 
our  every  action,  and  was  hostile  to  our  smile,  to 
our  life,  to  our  peace  and  our  love.  Its  intentions 
could  not  be  divined,  but  the  spirit  of  the  drama  as- 
sumed them  to  be  malevolent  always.  In  its  es- 
sence, perhaps,  this  power  was  just,  but  only  in 
anger;  and  it  exercised  justice  in  a  manner  so 
crooked,  so  secret,  so  sluggish  and  remote,  that  its 
punishments  —  for  rewards  there  were  never  — 
took  the  semblance  of  inexplicable,  arbitrary  acts  of 
fate.  We  had  then  more  or  less  the  idea  of  the  God 
of  the  Christians,  blent  with  that  of  fatality  of  old, 
lurking  in  nature's  impenetrable  twilight,  whence  it 
eagerly  watched,  contested,  and  saddened  the  pro- 
jects, the  feelings,  the  thoughts,  and  the  happiness 
of  man.'' 

In  those  early  plays  the  Interest  hangs  upon  the 
passage,  rather  than  upon  the  victim,  of  fatality; 
our  grief  Is  not  excited  by  the  tragedy:  we  shudder 
with  wide-eyed  horror  at  the  argument  of  the  Invis- 
ible, the  evidence  of  things  not  seen.  By  the  Intui- 
tive apprehensions  of  the  soul,  its  Instinctive  grop- 
Ings,  the  Incomprehensible,  disquieting  movements  In 
nature,  the  dark  forebodings  of  dumb,  shadowy 
events  —  by  these  means  M.  Maeterlinck  made  us 
aware  of  the  adumbration,  the  gradual  approach,  and 
ultimate  presence  of  the  mysterious  forces  of  Fate, 


2i6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Terror,  and  Death'.     He  objectified  and  concretize 
for  us  those  moments  of  life. 


When  .  .  . 

In  some  nimble  interchange  of  thought 
The  silence  enters  and  the  talkers  stare." 


4 


The  unnamed  presence  was  always  Death  — 
Death  the  intruder.  In  Ulntruse  we  waited  with 
tense  expectancy  and  strained  senses  for  his  coming; 
in  Ulnterieur  we  accompanied  him  to  the  scene  of 
the  eternal  tragedy;  in  Les  Aveugles  we  awaken 
with  a  start  to  find  Death  in  our  very  midst.  Ter- 
ror lurks  behind  a  half-closed  door,  and  all  the 
poignant  mystery  of  the  Universe  seems  embodied  in 
the  figures  of  seven  princesses  sleeping  in  a  dim 
castle  beside  the  sounding  sea.  There  was  no  es- 
cape from  the  obsession  of  some  dire,  inexpressibly 
dreadful  unknown  presence.  "  This  unknown,''  M. 
Maeterlinck  himself  has  said,  "  would  most  fre- 
quently appear  in  the  shape  of  death.  The  presence 
of  death — 'infinite,  menacing,  forever  treacherously 
active  —  filled  every  interstice  of  the  poem.  The 
problem  of  existence  was  answered  only  by  the 
enigma  of  annihilation.  And  it  was  a  callous,  in- 
exorable death;  blind,  and  groping  its  mysterious 
way  with  only  chance  to  guide  it;  laying  its  hands 
preferentially  on  the  youngest  and  least  unhappy, 
for  that  those  held  themselves  less  motionless  than 
others,  and  that  every  too  sudden  movement  in  the 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         217 

night  arrested  Its  attention.  And  round  it  were 
only  poor,  little,  trembling,  elementary  creatures, 
who  shivered  for  an  instant  and  wept,  on  the  brink 
of  a  gulf;  and  their  words  and  their  tears  had  im- 
portance only  from  the  fact  that  each  word  they 
spoke  and  each  tear  they  shed  fell  into  this  gulf, 
and  resounded  therein  so  strangely  at  times  as  to 
lead  one  to  think  that  the  gulf  must  be  vast  if  tear 
or  word,  as  it  fell,  could  send  forth  so  confused 
and  muffled  a  sound.** 

A  time  came  in  M.  Maeterlinck's  career  when  he 
recognized  the  morbidness  and  unhealthlness  of  such 
a  view  of  life,  and  realized  that,  in  the  transition, 
he  had  come  out  "  on  the  other  side  of  good  and 
evil."  This  conception  of  life  may  be  truth,  he 
grants,  but  it  is  "  one  of  those  profound  but  sterile 
truths  which  the  poet  may  salute  as  he  passes  on 
his  way  ** ;  with  it  he  should  not  abide.  It  is  per- 
haps this  early  conception  which  led  him  to  avow 
that  he  had  written  these  plays  for  a  theatre  of 
marionettes.  The  characters  all  silently  and  unre- 
sistingly do  the  bidding  of  some  unseen,  unknown 
power.  Duse  said  of  Maeterlinck:  "He  gives 
you  only  figures  in  a  mist  —  children  and  spirits.** 
Even  that  "  savage  little  legend  '*  of  the  misfortunes 
of  Malelne,  M.  MaeterHnck*s  first  play,  with  all  its 
violence,  lust,  bloodshed,  tears  and  terror,  is  over- 
brooded  by  haunting  and  inexpressible  misery. 

Octave  Mi^eau  wrote  of  this  play :     ''  M.  Mau- 


21 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


rice  Maeterlinck  nous  a  donne  Vceuvre  la  plus 
geniale  de  ce  temps,  et  la  plus  extraordinaire  et  la 
plus  naive  aussi,  comparable  et  —  oserairje  dire? 
—  superieure  en  beaute  a  ce  qu^il  y  a  de  plus  beauW^ 
dans  Shakspere  .  .  .  plus  tragique  que  Macbeth, 
plus  extraordinaire  en  pensee  que  Hamlet/'  Plus, 
plus,  and  again  plus!  Bernard  Shaw  delightedly, 
though  unjustly,  accused  even  the  precise  and  careful 
Archer  of  conferring  the  "  Order  of  the  Swan  "  (the 
Swan  of  Avon)  upon  Maeterlinck. 

There  are  many  suggestions  of  Shaksperean  char- 
acters in  this  little  play  —  Hamlet,  Ophelia,  Juliet, 
Lear,  the  nurse  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  Lady  Mac- 
beth; one  rather  feels,  however,  that  the  author  of 
this  play  is  in  no  sense  a  "  Belgian  Shakspere,"  but 
instead  a  rather  morbid  and  immature  young  man, 
re-interpreting  and  rehandling  the  plots  and  person- 
ages of  the  master-poet,  in  the  effort  to  express  him- 
self and  his  faith  in  terms  of  the  psychic  chirography 
of  to-day.  Maleine  is  full  of  the  unnamed  terrors 
of  the  Poe  of  The  House  of  Usher,  of  ghost-haunted 
regions,  of  dark,  pestilential  tarns  —  the  Poe  of 
Ulalume  and  The  Haunted  Palace.  It  is  not  until 
M.  Maeterlinck's  second,  or  rather  third,  period  is 
reached  that  his  theories  find  plausibly  human  con- 
cretizations. 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         219 


The  late  Richard  Hovey  once  spoke  of  Maeter- 
linck as  '*  the  greatest  living  poet  of  love,  if  not  the 
greatest  poet  of  love  that  ever  lived."  The  Mae- 
terlinck of  the  second  manner  we  recognize  as  es- 
sentially the  celebrant  and  Interpreter  of  Love. 

In  Pelleas  and  Melisande  we  have  a.  play  of  con- 
ventional plot  —  a  modern  revision  of  the  Da 
Rimini  story  of  Dante — ;  yet  in  Maeterlinck's  play 
there  Is  no  such  thing  as  local  color,  no  trace  of  Italy, 
for  example,  no  suggestion  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
So  distant  Is  the  scene,  so  fanciful  Is  the  setting  —  a 
pathetic  love-story  projected  against  a  gloomy  back- 
ground of  old,  forgotten  castles  —  that  we  might  al- 
most think  of  It  as  taking  place  out  of  space  and 
time.  It  Is  typical  of  the  plays  of  this  period,  peo- 
pled with  princes  and  princesses  from  No-Man's 
Land,  named  after  the  characters  In  the  Morte 
d^Arthur,  striking  stained-glass  attitudes  of  pre- 
Raphaelite  grace;  old  men,  symbolic  of  experience, 
wisdom,  abstract  justice ;  blind  beggars.  Intoning  the 
song  of  the  world-malady;  little  wise  children,  whose 
instinctive  divination  gives  new  veracity  to  the  words : 
"  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  .  .  ." 
There  are  castles  In  the  depths  of  haunted  forests, 
fountains  playing  softly  in  the  misty  moonshine  of 
secret  gardens,  where  errant  princesses  lose  their 
golden  crowns  In  magic  pools,  or  their  wedding-rings 


220 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


in  caverns  echoing  with  the  murmur  of  the 
sea.  These  are  pictures  in  which  may  faintly 
be  traced  the  lineaments  of  humanity;  but  the 
figures  are  dim  and  confused,  more  abstract 
than  vital.  In  Pelleas  and  MeUsande  the  accent 
is  nowhere  placed  upon  the  human  characters; 
the  stress  is  thrown  upon  forces  of  a  supersensible 
dreamland,  beyond  the  frontier  of  the  natural. 
Throughout  every  scene,  in  almost  every  speech, 
there  lurks  a  hidden  meaning,  so  suggestive,  so 
elusive,  so  profound,  that  the  unembodled  forces 
of  another  world  seem  to  adumbrate  and  control 
the  destinies  of  humanity.  Melisande  is  a  child- 
princess,  wedded  through  no  will  of  her  own  to  the 
gaunt,  rugged,  silent  Golaud.  As  soon  as  Melisande 
and  the  young  and  handsome  Pelleas,  Golaud's  half- 
brother,  meet,  their  mutual  insight  tells  them  that 
they  are  destined  for  each  other.  Struggle  as  they 
will  against  fate,  the  coils  are  too  strong  for  them 
and  they  succumb  to  the  Inevitable  call  of  soul  to 
soul.  Through  the  little  Yniold,  his  son  by  a  former 
marriage,  Golaud  learns  of  Melisande's  infidelity, 
surprises  the  lovers  in  each  others  arms,  strikes 
Pelleas  dead,  and  gives  Melisande  a  mortal  wound. 
Throughout  the  whole  play  there  breathes  an  at- 
mosphere of  the  most  profound  symbolism.  Even 
the  simplest  acts,  the  merest  words  of  all  the  char- 
acters, are  charged  and  freighted  with  symbolic 
meaning.     The  beautiful  balcony  episode,  suggestive 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         221 

as  It  may  be  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  is  not  only 
cast  In  exquisite  poetic  form,  but  Is  animate  with 
tragic  significance.  The  Incident  of  the  flight  of 
Mellsande's  doves,  the  fluttering  of  her  hair  to  her 
lover's  lips,  the  loss  of  the  wedding-ring,  the  cavern 
scene,  and  the  clandestine  meetings  beyond  the  walls 
of  the  castle  loom  large  with  hidden  Import.  No- 
where Is  the  novel  dramatic  method  of  M.  Maeter- 
linck more  manifest  than  In  this  play.  The  faintest 
movements  of  nature  cooperate  with  the  thoughts 
and  deeds  of  the  characters  to  suggest  the  over- 
shadowing of  that  divinity  which  shapes  our  ends. 

As  presented  by  a  wholly  French  cast  at  Covent 
Garden,  London,  In  the  season  of  19 10,  Debussy's 
opera  of  Pelleas  and  Melisande  seemed  to  me  a 
marvel  of  matchless  beauty,  of  sight  and  sound. 
The  eery  strains  of  this  strange  music  seemed  magi- 
cally devised  to  express  the  fateful  sadness  of  Mae- 
terlinck's poem.  The  characters  move  as  In  a  dream 
through  the  exquisite  scenes  of  their  predestined 
fate  —  with  a  hopelessness,  a  sad  sense  of  Imminent 
misfortune  incomparably  poetic  and  tragic.  Such 
collaboration  Is  a  miracle  of  art:  Maeterlinck  him- 
self might  have  passed  Into  the  soul  of  Debussy  and 
inspired  him.  An  even  more  memorable  perform- 
ance —  If  such  be  possible  I  —  was  given  in  the  latter 
part  of  August,  19 10,  at  M.  Maeterlinck's  own 
home,  the  ancient  Abbey  of  St.  Wandrllle.  The 
changing  scenes  of  this  romantic  play,  with  its  antique 


222  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

setting,  were  all  found  In  the  Abbey  itself  and 
environs.  The  few  rapt  spectators  took  their  pre- 
arranged places  of  vantage  and  spied,  like  eaves- 
droppers, upon  forlorn  little  Mellsande  weeping  In 
the  forest  over  the  loss  of  her  golden  crown;  upon 
Golaud  riding  up  to  the  castle  gates  on  his  white 
charger,  joyously  bearing  his  young  bride  in  his 
arms;  upon  Pelleas  and  Mellsande  engaging  In 
gentle  converse,  now  In  the  stillness  of  the  lime 
trees,  now  beside  the  splashing  waters  of  the  foun- 
tain; upon  the  prophetic  bedside  scene  when  Golaud 
discovers  the  loss  of  Mellsande's  betrothal  ring; 
upon  the  tower  scene  where  Pelleas  bathes  In  the 
beauty  of  Mellsande's  hair;  upon  the  final  tragic 
scenes  of  suspicion,  surprised  love,  assassination, 
death.  With  such  artists  as  M.  Rene  Maupre, 
M.  Jean  Durozat,  M.  Severln-Mars,  Mme.  Leblanc, 
Mile.  Jeanne  Even,  and  Mile.  Gllberte  Llvet- 
tlnl,  with  such  setting  as  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Wan- 
drllle,  Maeterlinck's  beautiful  drama  had  a  mar- 
vellous rendition  that  bids  fair  to  remain  unsur- 
passed In  the  history  of  the  production  of  his  plays. 
In  all  Maeterlinck's  love-dramas  —  Alladine  and 
Palomides,  Pelleas  and  Mellsande,  and  Aglavaine 
and  Selysette  —  the  mood  Is  ever  Individualistic, 
symptomatic  of  the  modern  thinker.  The  action, 
simple  to  the  verge  of  bareness.  Is  a  frail  frame- 
work through  and  beyond  which  we  gaze  Into  the 
depths  of  the  human  soul.     Maeterlinck  seems  to 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         223 

throw  faint  gleams  of  light  into  the  dark  pool 
where  humanity  has  lost  its  golden  crown.  The 
march  of  events  Is  but  a  passing  show,  life  Is  a  tiny 
oasis  in  an  illimitable  desert,  a  narrow  vale  between 
two  eternities.  The  characters  do  not  bring  things 
to  pass;  they  are  set  in  a  magic  maze  of  tragic  desti- 
nies: through  them  are  ever  sweeping  the  Impelling 
forces  of  the  universe.  Action  Is  but  the  seeming; 
emotion  Is  eternal  reality.  Deeds  are  but  the  eva- 
nescent expression  of  the  temporary;  feelings  are 
the  vital  repository  of  Immortal  truth. 

The  realities,  the  crises  of  life,  are  found  In  si- 
lence and  in  sadness:  '^ sunt  lacrima  rerumJ*  We 
see  no  vital,  tremendous,  self-captained  soul,  incar- 
nate with  the  deep-seated  elements  of  religion  and 
Christian  morality.  Love  Is  ever  the  victim,  wan- 
tonly broken  upon  the  wheel  of  fate.  The  su- 
premacy of  destiny  Is  solemnly  acknowledged,  its 
decrees  accepted.  The  call  of  soul  to  soul  cannot 
be  disregarded:  the  forces  of  Love  and  Chance  con- 
spire In  the  tragic  outcome. 

VI 

To  M.  Maeterlinck,  as  both  his  plays  and  essays 
affirm,  tragedy  to-day  Is  of  necessity  of  a  different 
cast  from  the  tragedy  of  the  past.  Speaking  of  his 
art,  Ibsen  once  significantly  said:  "We  are  no 
longer  living  In  the  time  of  Shakspere."  However 
he  may  have  carried  his  theory  out,  at  least  Gerhart 


224  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Hauptmann  has  said:  "  Action  upon  the  stage  will, 
I  think,  give  way  to  the  analysis  of  character  and  to 
the  exhaustive  consideration  of  the  motives  which 
prompt  men  to  act.  Passion  does  not  move  at  such 
headlong  speed  as  In  Shakspere's  day,  so  that  we 
present  not  the  actions  themselves,  but  the  psycho- 
logical states  which  cause  them."  Maeterlinck  be- 
lieves that  the  bold  bloodshed  and  gaudy  theatrl- 
clsm  of  the  conventional  drama  of  the  past  must  be 
replaced  in  this  modern  day  of  analysis  /and  intro- 
spection by  psychic  suggestion  and  the  silent  con- 
flicts of  the  soul.  The  "character  in  action  '*  of 
Shakspere  will  be  superseded  by  the  inverted  "  ac- 
tion In  character  '*  of  Maeterlinck.  Or,  to  be  more 
precise,  life  reveals  Its  meaning  to  us  only  In  static 
moments,  In  the  passive  intervals  of  our  life.  "  It 
is  no  longer  a  violent,  exceptional  moment  of  life 
that  passes  before  our  eyes  —  It  Is  life  Itself.  Thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  laws  there  are,  mightier  and 
more  venerable  than  those  of  passion.  ...  It 
Is  only  In  the  twilight  that  they  can  be  seen  and 
heard.  In  the  meditation  that  comes  to  us  at  the 
tranquil  moments  of  life." 

Maeterlinck's  ideal  mood  Is  static.  He  protests 
against  the  false  anachronism  which  so  dominates  the 
stage  that  dramatic  art  dates  back  as  many  years 
as  the  art  of  sculpture.  He  cites  modern  examples 
of  the  art  of  painting  to  prove  that  Marius  triumph- 
ing over  the  Cymbrians,  or  the  assassination  of  the 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         225 

Duke  of  Guise,  is  no  longer  the  type.  The  drama 
is  no  longer  dependent  upon  the  exhibition  of  violent 
convulsions  of  life:  "  Does  the  soul  flower  only  on 
nights  of  storm?"  It  is  only  when  man  is  at  rest 
that  we  have  time  to  observe  him.  "  To  me,  Othello 
does  not  appear  to  live  the  august  daily  life  of  Ham- 
let, who  has  time  to  live,  inasmuch  as  he  does  not  act. 
Othello  is  admirably  jealous.  But  is  it  not  perhaps 
an  ancient  error  to  imagine  that  it  is  at  the  moments 
when  this  passion,  or  others  of  equal  violence, 
possess  us,  that  we  live  our  true  lives  ?  I  have  grown 
to  believe  that  an  old  man,  seated  in  his  arm-chair, 
waiting  patiently,  with  his  lamp  beside  him,  giving 
unconscious  ear  to  all  the  eternal  laws  that  reign 
about  his  house,  interpreting,  without  comprehend- 
ing, the  silence  of  doors  and  windows  and  the  quiver- 
ing voice  of  the  light,  submitting  with  bent  head  to 
the  presence  of  his  soul  and  his  destiny  —  an  old 
man  who  is  conscious  not  that  all  the  powers  in  this 
world,  like  so  many  heedful  servants,  are  mingling 
and  keeping  vigil  in  his  room,  who  suspects  not  that 
the  very  sun  itself  is  supporting  in  space  the  little 
table  against  which  he  leans,  or  that  every  star  in 
heaven  and  every  fibre  of  the  soul  are  directly  con- 
cerned in  the  movement  of  an  eyelid  that  closes  or 
a  thought  that  springs  to  birth, —  I  have  grown  to 
believe  that  he,  motionless  as  he  is,  does  yet  live  in 
reality  a  deeper,  more  human,  and  more  universal 
life  than  the  lover  who  strangles  his  mistress,  the 


226  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

captain  who  conquers  In  battle,  or  '  the  husband  who' 
avenges  his  honor.'  " 

VII 

Preoccupied  ceaselessly  with  the  "  disquiet  of  uni- 
versal mystery,"  groping  hesitatingly  In  that  twilight 
zone  which  vaguely  delimitates  the  real  and  inti- 
mates the  over-real,  Maeterlinck  in  his  earlier  fa- 
talistic moods  seemed  content  to  look  upon  the  legend 
of  the  human  chlniera  with  the  "  grave,  wide-eyed 
gaze  of  an  Inspired  child."  He  succeeded  in  diffus- 
ing through  this  twilight  zone  that  strange  "  lunar 
brilliance  "  which  Heine  divined  at  times  in  Shaks- 
pere.  In  his  symbols  there  is  some  audible,  al- 
most sensable  revelation  of  the  Infinite;  in  Carlyle's 
phrase,  "  the  Infinite  is  made  to  blend  itself  with 
the  Finite,  to  stand  visible,  and,  as  it  were,  at- 
tainable there."  First,  I  think,  in  Aglavaine  and 
Selysette  is  there  real  descent  to  earth,  a  real  adum- 
bration of  a  primarily  human  problem.  This  play, 
along  with  Sceiir  Beatrice  and  Ardiane  et  Barhe  Bleu, 
marks  the  actual  transition  stage  in  Maeterlinck's 
art  from  the  drama  of  fatality,  of  pity  and  terror, 
to  the  drama  of  human  Interests,  of  real  emotions, 
and  of  direct  volitional  activity.  Aglavaine  and 
Selysette  is  an  illuminating  essay,  though  seen  in  a 
glass  darkly,  upon  ideal  possibHitles  in  human  rela- 
tionship in  a  future  state  of  elevated  moral  con- 
sciousness.    The  noble,  soulful  Aglavaine  realizes 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         227 

that  she  loves,  and  Is  beloved  by,  Meleandre,  al- 
ready wedded  to  the  childlike  Selysette.  Through 
sympathetic  communion  w*Ith  the  lofty  soul  of  Agla- 
valne,  the  little  Selysette  awakes  to  a  realization  of 
the  shallowness  of  her  fruitless,  butterfly  existence. 
With  her  mate,  there  has  been  no  high  pilgrimage 
to  those  uplands  of  peace  where  the  soul  truly  flow- 
ers. The  unfolding,  petal  by  petal,  of  this  flower- 
like, primrose  soul  is  intimated  with  an  art  as  ex- 
quisite as  it  is  finished.  And  yet  the  situation, 
humanly  speaking,  is  perilous,  untenable.  *'  I 
love  you,"  says  Aglavaine;  "I  love  Meleandre, 
Meleandre  loves  me,  he  loves  you,  too ;  you  love  us 
both,  and  yet  we  cannot  live  happily,  because  the 
hour  has  not  yet  come  when  human  beings  may  be 
thus  united."  (Does  the  world  offer  no  instances 
to  the  contrary?)  With  the  resolution  born  of  a 
hopeless  certitude,  Aglavaine  attains  the  power  of 
sincere  resignation  and  offers  to  go  away  forever. 
Humanly  consenting  in  the  first  glad  rush  of  relief, 
Selysette  in  the  event  attains  the  diviner  resignation, 
resolutely  going  out  into  the  night  of  despair  and 
death  that  two  souls,  immemorially  mated,  may  at- 
tain the  foreordained  consummation  of  their  destiny. 
Librettos  for  music  —  Sin^spiele,  as  the  Germans 
say  —  ScKur  Beatrice  and  Ardiane  et  Barhe  Bleu 
serve  more  clearly  to  mark  the  transition  in  Mae- 
terlinck's attitude  towards  problems  which  concern 
the  interpreter  of  life.     Sasur  Beatrice  is  the  Every- 


228  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

woman  of  human  love  —  instinctive,  sacrificial.  She 
flees  the  convent  with  her  lover,  and  though  exter- 
nally besmirched  with  earthly  contacts,  she  returns 
in  the  end  to  sanctuary  to  find  that  the  Virgin  has 
kept  her  place  inviolate  —  a  subtle  vindication  of 
the  sanctity  of  human  Impulse.  When  the  Abbess 
intimates  that  love  divine  is  a  terrible  burden, 
Beatrice  replies,  "  Mother,  no.  It  is  the  love  of 
man  that  is  the  burden,  the  weary  burden.  .  .  . 
I  have  said  often,  when  I  was  not  happy,  God  would 
not  punish  if  He  once  knew  all.  ...  In  other  days 
all  folks  ignored  distress,  in  other  days  they  cursed 
all  those  that  sinned;  but  now  all  pardon,  and  all 
seem  to  know.  .  .  .'' 

The  self-reliant  Ardiane,  of  Maeterllnck^s  version 
of  the  old  Blue  Beard  legend  of  a  thousand  trans- 
formations. Is  the  direct  progenitress  of  the  pas- 
sionate Joyzelle  and  the  heroic  Glovanna.  Her  in- 
tuition is  sure  and  supreme;  for  though  she  Is  free 
to  open  all  doors  but  one,  It  Is  the  forbidden  door 
alone  that  she  seeks.  "  Open  the  others  if  you  will; 
but  all  that  is  permitted  us  will  tell  us  naught." 
Truth  lies  not  on  the  beaten  path  of  convention,  but 
in  the  secret  recesses  of  the  soul.  Guilty  for  a  mo- 
ment of  human  yielding  to  the  sparkling  allurements 
of  the  senses,  Ardiane  recoils  In  time,  and  releases 
her  imprisoned  sisters  In  captivity  —  only  to  find 
that  they  are  wedded  to  their  chains.  Without  too 
violent  reference  to  the  concrete  —  the  vaticinations 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         229 

of  a  Mary  Wollstonecraft  or  the  violences  of  a 
Chrlstabel  Pankhurst  —  it  is  obvious  that  Maeter- 
linck is  envisaging  here  the  present  and  coming  re- 
volt of  woman  against  her  subjection;  and  enunciat- 
ing quite  definitely,  if  delicately,  satiric  commentaries 
upon  the  "  womanly  woman." 

VIII 

The  influence  of  much  modern  philosophy,  of  much 
modern  drama,  is  unmistakable.  There  is  a  secret 
and  abstract  justice,  a  sphere  of  ethical  equity,  out* 
side  of  and  above  the  external  domain  of  law,  con- 
vention and  authority.  The  arbiter  of  human  con- 
duct must  be,  not  the  merciless  dictum  of  the  world, 
but  the  mystical  sense  of  justice  deep-rooted  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  race.  To  the  question:  Which 
of  two  forces  which  work  within  us,  the  one  natural, 
the  other  ethical,  is  the  more  natural  and  necessary? 
Maeterlinck  would  doubtless  answer,  according  to 
Lorenzo  Ratto,  "  The  great  ideas  of  humanity  be- 
long to  the  species,  not  to  the  individual.  Justice  is 
perhaps  an  instinct  whose  tendency  is  the  defence  and 
conservation  of  humanity.  Ideal  justice  is  innate 
and  is  transformed  by  reason  and  will  Into  moral 
force.  Justice  is  within  ourselves;  outside  of  us  is 
infinite  injustice,  which  may  rather  be  called  justice  In- 
complete, because  exposed  to  all  the  errors  and  modi- 
fications which  result  from  clashing  interests.  While 
we  are  benefited  by  following  the  dictates  of  this 


230  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Inner  voice,  Its  Influence  cannot  extend  to  our  sur- 
roundings and  modify  the  laws  of  nature.  Its  sole 
result  Is  an  Internal  equilibrium,  the  balance  of  the 
conscience  In  which  we  may  enjoy  material  well- 
being.'* 

But  how  shall  this  human,  Instinctive  justice,  per- 
petually functioning  within  ourselves,  find  expres- 
sion In  a  drama  of  nescience  and  fatalistic  quietude? 
How  shall  such  a  drama  exist  In  the  world  of  spec- 
tators whose  composite  and  aggregate  passion  Is 
for  character  in  visible  action?  After  his  long 
period  of  probative  experlmentalism  followed  by  con- 
templation —  the  reverse  operation  to  that  of  the 
pure  theorist  —  Maeterlinck  discovered  and  frankly 
acknowledged  the  obligation  of  the  dramatist  writ- 
ing for  the  actual  theatre  of  to-day.  "  To  penetrate 
deeply  Into  human  consciousness,"  he  says  In  The 
Double  Garden,  "  is  the  privilege,  even  the  duty  of 
the  thinker,  the  moralist,  the  historian,  novelist,  and, 
to  a  degree,  of  the  lyric  poet;  but  not  of  the  drama- 
tist. Whatever  the  temptation,  he  dare  not  sink  Into 
inactivity,  become  mere  philosopher  or  observer. 
Do  what  one  will,  discover  what  marvels  one  may, 
the  sovereign  law  of  the  stage.  Its  essential  demand, 
will  always  be  action.  With  the  rise  of  the  curtain, 
the  high  intellectual  desire  within  us  undergoes  trans- 
formation; and  in  place  of  the  thinker,  psychologist, 
mystic  or  moralist,  there  stands  the  mere  instinctive 
spectator,    the    man    electrified   negatively   by   the 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         231 

crowd,  the  man  whose  one  desire  is  to  see  some- 
thing happen."  Nowhere  have  I  seen  a  more  ad- 
mirable and  succinct  formulation  of  the  essential 
criterion  of  true  drama  —  unless  it  be  Brunetiere's 
classical  positing  of  the  struggle  of  human  wills;  and 
this,  in  the  light  of  contemporary  specimens  of 
drama,  is  subject  to  very  wide  modification  and  re- 
statement. In  Maeterlinck's  case,  it  is  peculiarly 
noteworthy  that  his  practice  accompanies  the  actual 
formulation  of  his  hardly  won  discoveries. 

Early  in  his  career,  Maeterlinck  confessed  that 
when  he  went  to  a  theatre,  he  felt  as  though  he  were 
spending  a  few  hours  with  his  ancestors,  who  con- 
ceived life  as  something  primitive,  arid  and  brutal. 
In  the  dramas  of  the  school  of  Dumas  fits,  he  found 
the  most  elementary  of  moral  conflicts  brought  on 
the  stage  —  the  husband  avenging  his  honor,  the  pro- 
mulgation of  the  rights  of  the  illegitimate  child,  as- 
pects of  divorce,  variations  on  the  "  unwritten  law," 
and  so  on.  It  was  not  until  he  pondered  the  dramas 
of  Ibsen  and  his  followers  that  he  discovered  that 
"  the  further  we  penetrate  into  the  consciousness  of 
man,  the  less  struggle  do  we  discover."  A  mystic 
who  has  lost  faith  in  the  healing  efficacies  of  re- 
vealed religion,  Maeterlinck  has  undergone  the  in- 
evitable attendant  disillusion.  And  his  dispassionate 
contemplation  of  the  eternal  enigma  has  fixed  in  his 
consciousness  the  irrevocable  conviction  that  the 
great  duties,  faiths,  obligations  and  responsibilities 


232  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  the  future  will  gently  disengage  themselves  frmrT 
the  violent,  bitter  and  all  too  human  passions  of  to- 
day. "  A  consciousness  that  Is  truly  enlightened 
will  possess  passions  and  desires  Infinitely  less  ex- 
acting, Infinitely  more  peaceful  and  patient,  more 
salutary,  abstract  and  general,  than  are  those  that 
reside  in  the  ordinary  consciousness."  In  a  world 
of  human  beings,  emanating  justice  from  within  and 
living  an  Interior  life  of  rare  calm  and  benignity, 
only  the  most  pressing  and  most  universal  duties 
will  possess  the  power  to  disturb  the  internal  equi- 
librium of  human  consciousness. 

IX 

Monna  Vanna  is  the  summit  of  Maeterlinck's  art 
as  a  dramatist;  and  Joyzelle,  though  following  It  in 
point  of  time,  in  reality  is  a  link  between  Monna 
Vanna  and  his  earlier  works.  Indeed,  it  is  a  sort  of 
pendant  to  Monna  Vanna  and  should  be  consid- 
ered prior  to  and  In  connection  with  it.  And  I 
think  that  the  theoretical  considerations  outlined 
above  may  serve  to  act  as  commentary  upon  both 
plays.  Joyzelle  is  more  imaginative,  poetic  and 
symbolic  than  Monna  Vanna^  as  Maeterlinck  himself 
said,  but  it  is  far  less  coherent  and  significant,  rely- 
ing upon  such  obvious  symbolism.  "  It  represents," 
said  Maeterlinck,  "  the  triumph  of  will  and  love 
over  Destiny,  or  fatality  as  against  the  converse 
lesson  of  Monna  Vanna,**     In  order  to  Illustrate  the 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         233 

possibility  of  such  a  result  of  the  struggle  between 
environment  and  personality,  it  was  necessary,  Mae- 
terlinck further  explained,  to  place  the  chief  per- 
sonages of  the  drama  in  very  peculiar  circumstances, 
and  to  Invoke  the  aid  of  myth  and  symbolism.  The 
grounds  for  such  a  necessity  are  clear  only  in  the 
case  of  an  artist  of  Maeterlinck's  peculiar  quality ;  and 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  circumstances  in  which 
the  characters  are  placed  are  decidedly  "  peculiar.'' 
Merlin,  the  old  seer,  knowing  the  future  through 
the  Intermediary  of  his  familiar  spirit,  Arlelle  — 
symbolic  Incarnation  of  his  faculty  of  divination  — 
and  realizing  all  that  the  future  holds  for  his  be- 
loved son,  determines  to  play  the  role  of  destiny  in 
order  to  ensure  his  happiness.  Joyzelle  loves  Lan- 
ceor.  Merlin's  son,  with  a  perfectly  human,  instinc- 
tive passion;  and  acts  under  all  the  cruel  and  harrow- 
ing tests  to  which  she  is  submitted  by  Merlin,  with 
forthright  decisiveness  and  simplicity.  Maeterlinck 
fails  to  convince  us  that  there  is  any  real  conflict  — 
merely  the  successful,  but  foreseen,  surmounting  of 
all  the  tests  Imposed;  and  at  the  end  as  at  the  be- 
ginning, Joyzelle  is  identical  with  herself  —  fresh, 
spontaneous,  loyal  unto  death.  To  win  her  Lan- 
ceor,  she  Is  nerved  even  to  crime ;  but  fate  —  or  a 
mechanical  symbol  for  fate  I  —  Intervenes.  Mae- 
terlinck loosely  evades  the  moral  Implication  of  this 
Incident;  for  when  Joyzelle  naively  Inquires,  "  Is  it 
then  ordained  that  love  should  strike  and  kill  all 


234  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

that  attempts  to  bar  the  road?"  the  answer  is, 
do  not  know."  It  is  Interesting  to  observe  that  Joy- 
zelle  is  submitted  to  the  same  test  as  Vanna,  with 
this  fundamental  difference:  upon  the  consent  o 
Vanna  to  a  sacrifice  of  her  person  is  conditioned  the 
material  happiness  and  the  lives  of  thousands;  Joy- 
zelle  fights  for  the  inner  sanctity  of  individual  and 
personal  love.  Lanceor  is  a  mere  lay  figure  — • 
the  dupe  of  a  Maeterlinckian  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream;  and  in  the  strange  story  of  this  Ferdinand 
and  Miranda,  Joyzelle  is  struggling  for  a  consum- 
mation of  very  dubious  value.  The  play  is  note- 
worthy in  one  respect,  viewed  in  the  light  it  throws 
upon  the  evolution  of  Maeterlinck's  art  as  a  dra- 
matist. Hitherto  Maeterlinck  has  always  vouch- 
safed to  fate  the  victory  over  humanity.  In  Joy- 
zelle, Maeterlinck  has  given  the  victory  to  love — ^ 
a  love  of  authentic  finality  and  enduring  strength 


X 

Original  and  distinctive  as  Maeterlinck  succeeds 
in  remaining  through  all  his  tentatives  and  experi- 
ments, he  is  perhaps  the  most  impressionable  of 
modern  artists.  The  Influences  that  work  in  him 
are  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity  and  find  solid 
ground  in  the  most  modern  of  the  moderns.  If  at 
times  he  seems  the  Incarnation  of  the  Stoicism  for 
which  we  have  to  go  to  Marcus  Aurellus  to  find  a 
parallel,   at  others   he  penetrates  to   the  heart  of 


i 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         235 

modern  problems,  and  challenges  comparison,  as 
moralist,  even  with  Ibsen  and  Nietzsche. 

Max  Nordau  contemptuously,  though  not  inaptly, 
characterized  La  Princesse  Maleine  as  a  sort  of 
cento  out  of  Shakspere,  a  "  Shaksperean  anthology 
for  children  and  Patagonians."  Indeed,  La  Prin- 
cesse Maleine  J  and  Joyzelle  with  its  Tempest  setting, 
testify  to  Maeterlinck's  preoccupation  with  the 
scenic  accessories  and  romantic  violences  of  the 
Shaksperean  drama.  Monna  Fanna,  as  Professor 
W.  L.  Phelps  pointed  out,  owes  its  setting  and  one 
of  its  structural  features  to  Browning's  Luria;  and 
Pelleas  and  Melisande  finds  its  roots  in  the  Dantean 
story  of  the  two  who  go  forever  on  the  accursed  air. 
And  yet,  in  every  case,  Maeterlinck's  adaptation, 
modification,  or  amplification  of  the  facts,  material 
or  spiritual,  and  his  re-presentation  of  the  characters 
he  has  chosen  to  reincarnate,  reveal  individuality,  a 
distinctive  habit  of  mind,  and  originality  of  depic- 
tion. These  plays,  in  a  sense,  serve  as  Maeter- 
linck's personal  impressions  of  his  adventures  among 
the  masterpieces  of  Shakspere,  Browning  and  Dante. 

The  most  noteworthy  influence  visibly  operant 
upon  the  art  and  thought  and  life  of  Maeterlinck 
came  however,  not  from  literature,  but  from  life  — 
in  the  person  of  that  woman  who  was  eventually  to 
share  all  his  joys  and  sorrows.  The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble  was  dedicated  to  Mile.  Georgette  Leblanc; 
and  it  is  significant  that  in  the  year  of  its  publication, 


236 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


1896,  Maeterlinck  leaves  Flanders  forever  and 
enters  the  great  cosmopolitan  world  of  Paris.  Be- 
hind him  now  lie  the  ancient  spires,  the  dark  canals, 
the  sluggish  waters,  the  floating  swans,  the  gloomy 
atmosphere  and  phlegmatic  spirit  of  his  ancestral 
city.  Behind  him  lie  the  strange  and  morbid  fancies 
of  his  youthful  days  —  the  arabesque  landscapes, 
hidden  grottoes,  haunted  castles,  noxious  moonlit 
gardens;  the  pitiable,  bloodless  spectres,  with  their 
frantic  gestures  of  despair  and  stammering  inco- 
herent protests  against  immitigable  doom.  The 
gray  Stoic  dons  the  bright  colors  of  optimism;  the 
poet  of  the  ethereal  becomes  the  celebrant  of  the 
humanly  real. 

Again  in  1898,  Maeterlinck  dedicates  a  book, 
Wisdom  and  Destiny^  to  Mile.  Leblanc  —  in  words 
eloquent  of  her  influence:  "  I  dedicate  to  you  this 
book,  which  is,  in  effect,  your  work.  There  is  a  col- 
laboration more  lofty  and  more  real  than  that  of 
the  pen;  it  Is  that  of  thought  and  example.  I  have 
not  been  obliged  to  imagine  laboriously  the  resolu- 
tions and  the  actions  of  a  wise  Ideal,  or  to  extract 
from  my  heart  the  moral  of  a  beautiful  reverie 
necessarily  a  trifle  vague.  It  has  sufliced  to  listen  to 
your  words.  It  has  sufficed  that  my  eyes  have  fol- 
lowed you  attentively  in  life;  they  followed  thus  the 
movements,  the  gestures,  the  habits  of  wisdom  her- 
self." 

Lovingly  celebrated  in  his  Portrait  of  a  Lady, 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         237 

with  Its  motto  from  La  Bruyere:  "He  said  that 
the  intelligence  of  this  fair  lady  was  like  a  diamond 
in  a  handsome  setting  " —  Mile.  Leblanc  finds  real 
incarnation  In  Monna  Vanna,  which  she  Is  destined 
to  create  with  moving  and  magic  force.  Monna 
Vanna  Is  Maeterlinck's  great  human  challenge  of 
mystic  morality  to  the  modern  world  —  no  fourth- 
dimensional  drama  of  the  spirit,  "  pinnacled  dim  In 
the  Intense  Inane/'  but  a  drama  of  flesh  and  blood, 
of  heart  as  well  as  of  soul.  It  bears  all  the  hall- 
marks of  the  drama  of  to-day,  even  to  Its  ideal, 
spectator.  Its  undulation  of  emotional  process.  Its 
classic  conflict  of  wills.  It  bears  the  pure  Maeter- 
linckian  stamp  as  well  —  but  this  time  the  glorious 
struggle  of  the  Ideal  morality  against  the  purely 
human  passions  of  daily  life.  Monna  Vanna  Is  the 
apotheosis  of  womanhood  —  the  fine  flower  of  the 
virginal  type  become  volitional,  latent  In  Aglavalne, 
just  stretching  shining  pinions  In  Ardlane.  With 
such  high-minded  disinterestedness  Is  it  conceived 
that  our  heart,  In  turn,  goes  out  to  the  passionately 
loving,  but  outraged  husband,  Guido;  to  the  bar- 
baric, but  essentially  noble  Prinzivalle;  to  the  old 
Marco,  sacrificing  the  love  of  his  son  to  the  Ideal 
demands  of  the  loftier  morality;  to  Vanna,  in  her 
evolution  from  blushing  and  tender  femininity  to 
decisive  and  noble  womanhood.  The  unresolved 
cadence  of  its  clamant  finale  Is  our  concession  to  the 
mystic   Maeterlinck.     **  With   conscious   strength," 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

as  Anselma  Heine  says,  "  Monna  Vanna  carries  her 
fault  upon  her  shoulders  like  a  coronation  mantle, 
and  with  uplifted  gaze  strides  forth  into  happiness." 

XI  " 

The  Blue  Bird,  Maeterlinck's  "  Fairy  Play  in  Five 
Acts,'*  is,  on  reflection,  less  a  surprise  than  a  con- 
firmation. Here  at  last  is  the  "  anthology  for  chil- 
dren " —  neither  from  Shakspere,  nor  for  Pata- 
gonians  —  but  pure  Maeterlinck,  an  allegorical 
fantasy  of  that  search  for  ideal  happiness  with  which 
he  is  ever  concerned.  From  the  essay  on  Luck  in 
The  Buried  Temple  there  is  a  significant  passage 
which  adumbrates  this  new  fancy.  "  Let  us  unwear- 
iedly  follow  each  path  that  leads  from  our  conscious- 
ness to  our  unconsciousness.  We  shall  thus  succeed 
in  hewing  some  kind  of  track  through  the  great  and 
as  yet  impassable  roads  that  lead  from  the  seen  to 
the  unseen,  from  man  to  God,  from  the  individual 
to  the  universe.  At  the  end  of  these  roads  lies 
hidden  the  general  secret  of  life."  The  Blue  Bird 
belongs  to  that  modern  literature  of  childhood's 
dreamland,  which  finds  such  tragic  exemplification  in 
Hauptmann's  The  Assumption  of  Hannele,  such  joy- 
ous celebration  in  Barrie's  Peter  Pan.  Maeterlinck 
seems  to  be  harking  back  to  the  ideas  of  his  poet- 
friend,  Charles  Van  Lerberghe;  and  in  this  new  cre- 
ation gives  us  a  real  play  for  marionettes  that  would 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         239 

have  delighted  the  author  of  A  Child's  Garden  of 
Verses. 

It  is  a  future  possibility  of  Man  to  discover  the 
soul  of  inanimate  things,  to  conquer  thus  all  the 
forces  which  are  now  veiled  from  him  and  arrayed 
against  him,  and  to  live  in  a  pantheistic  universe  of 
life,  freedom  and  light.  And  it  is  Man's  destiny 
to  pursue  that  **  great  secret  of  things  and  of  happi- 
ness," which  is  the  Blue  Bird  of  the  Maeterlinckian 
fantasy.  Some  such  general  idea  as  this  lies  back 
of  the  simple  symbolism  and  allegory  of  this  fairy 
play. 

In  dreamland,  Tyltyl  and  Myltyl,  the  children  of 
two  old  peasants,  are  visited  by  the  fairy  Berylune 
who  bids  them  start  in  search  of  the  Blue  Bird. 
This  Blue  Bird  she  must  have  for  her  little  girl  who 
Is  very  ill.  *'  We  don't  quite  know  what's  the  matter 
with  her;  she  wants  to  be  happy  .  .  ." — thus  the 
fairy  Berylune,  who  to  the  children  seems  to  bear  a 
strange  resemblance  to  their  neighbor,  Madame  Ber- 
lingot.  The  green  hat  with  a  diamond  ornament, 
which  Berylune  gives  to  Tyltyl,  enables  him,  by  turn- 
ing It  a  certain  way,  to  see  the  inside  of  things,  and 
to  summon  the  souls  of  the  inanimate.  No  sooner 
has  Tyltyl  turned  the  diamond  than  a  wonderful 
change  comes  over  everything,  and  forth  come 
trooping  the  Hours,  dancing  merrily  to  the  sound 
of  delicious  music,  the  souls  of  the  Quartern-loaves, 


240^  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  Man's  one  absolutely  faithful  servant,  the  Dog; 
the  Cat,  Water,  "  like  a  young  girl,  streaming,  dis- 
hevelled and  tearful,''  Milk,  "  a  tall,  white  bashful 
figure  who  seems  to  be  afraid  of  everything,"  sanc- 
timonious Sugar,  and  a  luminous  creature  of  incom- 
parable beauty,  called  Light.  And  now  forthwith, 
with  these  strange  and  sprightly  attendants,  the 
children  start  on  their  quest  for  the  Blue  Bird. 

At  the  fairy's  palace,  Berylune  explains  to  the  chil- 
dren that  if  they  can  find  the  Blue  Bird,  they  will 
know  all,  see  all,  at  last  dominate  the  universe  — 
a  Biblical  reminder  of  that  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  eating  which  man  shall  know  all  things, 
both  good  and  evil.  They  journey  first  to  the  Land 
of  Memory,  and  there  meet  their  grandparents  and 
their  long-lost  brothers  and  sisters,  who  need  only 
to  be  remembered  to  live  again.  Here  Tyltyl  cap- 
tures a  bird  which  seems  "  blue  as  a  blue  glass  mar- 
ble"; but  alas!  as  soon  as  they  leave  the  Land  of 
Memory  —  for  when  we  dwell  on  the  past  in  loving 
memory  we  idealize  all  things  there  —  the  bird  is  no 
longer  blue. 

And  so  their  pilgrimage  continues  to  the  palace 
of  Night,  who  lives  in  terror  for  fear  Man  will  cap- 
ture all  his  mysteries,  and  vanquish  all  his  terrors. 
Here  Tyltyl  takes  a  peep  into  the  cavern  of  the 
Ghosts  who,  as  Night  explains,  **  have  felt  bored  in 
there  ever  since  Man  ceased  to  take  them  seriously  " ; 
at  the  Sicknesses,  who  are  not  happy  since  "  Man 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         241 

has  been  waging  such  a  determined  war  upon  them 

—  especially  since  the  discovery  of  the  microbes. 
.  .  .  The  Doctors  are  so  unkind  to  them."  Though 
not  yet  winter,  one  of  the  smallest  almost  escapes, 
sneezing,  coughing,  and  blowing  Its  nose:  it's  Cold- 
in-the-Head.     Nowhere  can  they  find  the  Blue  Bird 

—  not  among  the  Wars,  the  Shades  and  Terrors,  the 
Mysteries,  nor  In  the  private  locker  where  Night 
keeps  the  "  unemployed  Stars,  my  personal  Perfumes, 
a  few  Glimmers  that  belong  to  me,  such  as  Will-o'- 
the- Wisps,  Glow-worms  and  Fireflies,  also  the  Dew, 
the  Song  of  the  Nightingales,  and  so  on  .  .  ." 
Finally,  though  warned  that  It  Is  not  permitted  to 
open  one  great  door,  Tyltyl  musters  up  courage,  to 
discover  there 

"  the  most  unexpected  of  gardens,  unreal,  infinite,  and 
ineffable,  a  dream-garden  bathed  in  nocturnal  light,  where, 
among  stars  and  planets,  illumining  all  that  they  touch, 
flying  ceaselessly  from  jewel  to  jewel  and  from  moonbeam 
to  moonbeam,  fairylike  blue  birds  hover  perpetually  and 
harmoniously  down  to  the  confines  of  the  horizon,  birds  in- 
numerable to  the  point  of  appearing  to  be  the  breath,  the 
azured  atmosphere,  the  very  substance  of  the  wonderful 
garden." 

Too  easily  dazzled  by  this  glitter,  they  seize  eag- 
erly only  those  birds  that  are  within  reach  —  only 
to  discover  when  they  are  held  to  the  light  that  the 
birds  are  dead. 


242         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


ri 


In  the  Forest,  betrayed  by  the  treacherous  Cat, 
they  are  beset  by  all  the  trees  and  animals,  who 
know  that  if  the  Blue  Bird  is  captured,  their  last 
breath  of  freedom  and  independence  of  man  ex- 
pires. Though  guarded  zealously  by  the  faithful 
Dog,  the  children  are  hard  put  to  it  to  defend  them- 
selves, and  are  rescued  in  the  end  only  by  the  inter- 
vention of  Light.  Next  day  they  seek  the  Blue 
Bird  in  the  Graveyard  —  but  they  are  not  accom- 
panied by  Light,  who  might  terrify  the  dead,  nor 
by  Fire,  "  who  would  want  to  burn  the  dead,  as  of 
old ;  and  that  is  no  longer  done  .  .  ."  Tyltyl  turns 
the  jewel,  and 

"  Then,  from  all  the  gaping  tombs,  there  rises  gradually 
an  efflorescence  at  first  frail  and  timid  like  steam;  then 
white  and  virginal  and  more  and  more  tufty,  more  and  more 
tall  and  plentiful  and  marvellous.  Little  by  little,  irre- 
sistibly, invading  all  things,  it  transforms  the  graveyard  into 
a  sort  of  fairy-like  and  nuptial  garden,  over  which  rise  the 
first  rays  of  the  dawn  .  .  ." 

Stunned  and  dazzled,  Myltyl  asks,  looking  In  the 
grass,  "  Where  are  the  dead?  "  And  Tyltyl,  look- 
ing, answers:     "There  are  no  dead  .  .  .*' 

Once  again  they  resume  their  pilgrimage,  this 
time  to  the  Kingdom  of  the  Future  peopled  with  the 
Blue  Children,  who  await  the  hour  of  their  birth. 
One  prophesies  that,  once  on  earth,  he  will  have 
to  "  invent  the  thing  that  gives  happiness  " ;  another 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         243 

will  invent  a  "  machine  that  flies  in  the  air  like  a  bird 
without  wings  *'  (whether  a  Bleriot  monoplane  or  a 
Wright  biplane  is  left  in  doubt)  ;  another  will 
"  bring  pure  joy  to  the  globe  by  means  of  ideas  which 
people  have  not  yet  had."  At  last  white-bearded 
Time,  with  scythe  and  hour-glass,  appears  upon  the 
threshold;  and  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  "  white 
and  gold  sails  of  a  galley  moored  to  a  sort  of  quay, 
formed  by  the  rosy  mists  of  the  Dawn."  As  the 
galley  floats  away  to  Earth,  bearing  the  Blue  Chil- 
dren, Tyltyl  and  Myltyl  hear  an  extremely  distant 
song  of  gladness  and  expectation.  Tyltyl  inquires, 
"What  is  that?  ...  It  sounds  like  other  voices 
.  .  ."  To  which  Light  responds,  *'  Yes,  it  is  the 
song  of  the  mothers  coming  out  to  meet  them." 

The  children  at  last  return  to  earth,  for  Light 
assures  them  that  she  has  caught  the  Blue  Bird  and 
has  it  hidden  under  her  cloak.  They  awake  in  the 
cottage  of  their  parents,  now  illumined,  as  if  by 
magic,  with  strange,  fresh  beauty;  and  they  talk  so 
strangely  of  their  long  dream-pilgrimage,  more  real 
than  reality,  that  their  mother  is  alarmed  for  fear 
they  have  discovered  the  hiding  place  of  her  hus- 
band's brandy-bottle.  When  Madame  Berlingot 
enters,  the  children  to  her  surprise  call  her  Berylune, 
and  express  sorrow  that  they  have  been  unable  to 
find  the  Blue  Bird.  But  Tyltyl  offers  his  own  little 
turtle-dove  for  her  sick  child.  She  rapturously 
seizes  it  and  runs  to  present  it  to  the  invalid.     In  a 


244  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


d 


moment  she  returns,  '*  holding  by  the  hand  a  little 
girl  of  a  fair  and  wonderful  beauty,  who  carries 
TyltyPs  dove  pressed  in  her  arms.'*  The  miracle  is 
wrought;  here  at  last  Is  the  Blue  Bird.  But  as 
Tyltyl,  wishing  to  show  her  how  to  feed  the  dove, 
momentarily  takes  It  from  her,  it  escapes  and  flies 
away.  \ 

"  Never  mind,  .  .  .  don't  cry  ...  I  will  catch 
him  again,"  says  Tyltyl  reassuringly.  And  with  all 
the  grace  of  a  Peter  Pan  appealing  to  the  public 
for  their  belief  in  fairies,  Tyltyl  steps  to  the  front 
of  the  stage  and  addresses  the  audience: 

"  If  any  of  you  should  find  him,  would  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  give  him  back  to  us?  .  .  .  We  need  him 
for  our  happiness,  later  on  .  .  ." 

Maeterlinck's  marvellous  Imaginative  faculty  for 
evocation  of  images  of  rare,  strange  beauty  plays 
through  the  scenic  directions.  That  greatest  of  liv- 
ing stage-managers,  the  Russian  Stanislavsky,  has 
already  realized  Maeterlinck's  intention  In  a  pro- 
duction notable  for  the  magic  beauty  of  its  setting. 
The  Blue  Bird  was  played  in  Moscow  for  consid- 
erably more  than  a  year,  and  has  been  produced  all 
over  Russia  literally  by  scores  of  companies.  It 
was  most  fitting  that  The  Blue  Bird  should  have 
been  successfully  produced  In  London;  for  M.  Mae- 
terlinck has  gracefully  acknowledged  Mr.  Barrie  as 
"  the  father  of  Peter  Pan,  and  the  grandfather  of 
The  Blue  Bird.^'     Fantastically,  If  somewhat  con- 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         245 

ventionally  Imaginative,  were  the  designs  for  The 
Palace  of  the  Night  with  Its  stately  quadrangle  and 
mystic,  columned  temple ;  the  Kingdom  of  the  Future 
with  its  succession  of  oval  arches  painted  In  cerulean 
blue  and  the  changing  colors  of  ships  and  figures  at 
the  embarcatlon  of  the  unborn  children  for  their 
voyage  to  this  world;  the  magic  Garden  filled  with 
radiant  blue  birds,  ceaselessly  fluttering  hither  and 
thither,  through  the  instrumentality  of  the  wonder- 
working biograph;  and  the  austere  dignity  of  the 
Forest,  with  Its  gnarled,  primeval,  dense-packed 
trees.  Children  sat  speechless  and  spellbound  in  un- 
sophisticated contemplation  of  this  youthful,  modern 
quest  of  a  new  Holy  Grail,  while  men  and  women 
read  therein  the  meanings  vouchsafed  them  by  their 
own  life-quests.  The  pretty  fantasy  with  its  individ- 
ualized figures,  whether  of  abstraction  or  beast  or 
inanimate  object,  its  eager,  earnest  children,  Its  easy 
dialogue,  its  simple  allegory  and  symbolism.  Its  light 
hints  of  a  secondary  intention.  Its  poetic  imaginative- 
ness and  above  all  its  delicate  and  playful  humor, 
reveal  a  Maeterlinck  who  at  once  endears  himself 
to  all  who  love  children  and  to  all  who  have  ever 
engaged  in  a  perhaps  not  wholly  fruitless  quest  for 
that  elusive  and  evanescent  thing  we  call  Happiness. 
In  Mary  Magdalene,  one  divines  another  illustra- 
tion of  that  ethereal  mimetic  instinct  which  haunts 
Maeterlinck  In  some  of  the  higher  flights  of  his 
dramatic  fancy.     In  this  effort  to  clothe  reality  in 


246         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


n 


the  garb  of  mysticism,  there  is  something  at  once 
thin,  high  and  remote.  As  Maeterlinck  has  succes- 
sively laid  Dante,  Shakspere,  Browning,  Strind- 
berg  and  Barrie  under  contribution,  so  now  he  turns 
to  Paul  Heyse,  great  German  poet,  the  profound 
creator  of  Maria  von  Magdala.  Heyse's  complex 
tissue  of  emotion  and  conversion  is  a  work  of  true 
greatness;  the  interpretation,  by  Minnie  Maddern 
Fiske,  of  the  great-souled  Mary,  swayed,  overborne, 
transfigured  under  the  magic,  pure  spell  of  the 
Master,  I  recall  as  a  noble  achievement  of  histrionic 
art. 

Actuated  by  feelings  natural  if  not  quite  generous, 
Heyse  forbade  the  utilization  by  Maeterlinck  of 
motives  employed  in  Maria  von  Magdala,  Maeter- 
linck nevertheless  not  only  felt  that  the  words  of 
Christ  were  available  for  all  artists;  he  himself  had 
already  imagined  the  crucial  theme  of  the  play  in  his 
Joyzelle,  written  before  he  had  ever  seen  Maria 
von  Magdala.  Maeterlinck's  Mary  Magdalene, 
despite  its  apparent  imitativeness,  stands  fully  justi- 
fied in  view  of  its  strange  beauty  and  authentic  ar- 
tistic worth. 

In  several  of  Maeterlinck's  most  remarkable 
works  for  the  stage,  the  problem  which  inspires  his 
muse  Is  the  feminine  sacrifice  of  virginity  for  ends 
transcending  the  conventional  and  the  personal. 
Vanna  will  surrender  herself  — "  nude  beneath  her 
mantle  " —  to   the  barbarian  conqueror.     To   save 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         247 

the  life  of  her  lover,  Joyzelle  will  yield  herself  to 
Merlin  —  selfless  in  the  transcendent  sacrifice  of 
love.  Now  again,  in  Mary  Magdalene^  Maeter- 
linck once  more  concerns  himself  with  this  disquiet- 
ing problem. 

In  Bethany,  Appius,  Lucius  Verus,  a  military 
tribune,  and  Mary  Magdalene  gather  at  the  villa 
of  Annoeus  Silanus,  where  they  discuss  the  teach- 
ings of  Jesus,  the  itinerant  preacher.  The  teachings 
of  Longinus  are  advanced  in  opposition  to  those  of 
Jesus;  but  it  is  Mary,  with  feminine  intuition,  who 
perceives  that  the  reasoning  of  Longinus  neither 
dispels  sorrow  nor  heals  the  mortal  wounds  of  the 
heart.  Across  their  discussions  sounds  the  clear, 
sweet,  penetrating  voice  of  Jesus,  addressing  a  great 
crowd  nearby.  Transfixed  with  an  emotion  of  which 
she  can  give  no  account,  Mary  moves  as  In  a  trance 
towards  Jesus.  She  must  see  that  face,  drown  her 
senses  in  the  deeper  meanings  of  those  strangely 
healing  words.  The  crowd,  with  the  cry  "  The 
adulteress!"  would  stone  her;  but  Jesus  stills  the 
tumult.  "  He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let  him 
cast  the  first  stone  at  her  I  " 

The  miracle  begins  to  work  in  Mary.  The  spirit 
of  Christ  has  touched  her  spirit.  To  the  suit  of  the 
enamored  Verus,  Mary  is  withheld  from  yielding  by 
a  new,  strange  reluctance  of  which  she  Is  but  half 
conscious.  Gathered  at  the  villa  of  Mary,  the 
friends  discuss  the  marvel  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus 


248  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


I 


and  invoke  Roman  and  Greek  philosophy  to  its 
depths,  in  a  spirit  of  defiant  opposition.  Suddenly, 
without  warning,  the  resurrected  Lazarus  appears 
in  their  midst  and  addresses  Mary:  "  The  Master 
calls  you."  Verus  endeavors  to  hector  Lazarus,  to 
free  Mary  from  this  new  obsession.  Moving  as 
if  in  a  dream,  and  deaf  to  the  impassioned  en- 
treaties of  Verus,  Mary  follows  Lazarus  amid  awe- 
stricken  silence. 

At  the  house  of  Joseph  of  Arimathaea  now 
gather  many  followers  of  Christ  —  Nicodemus, 
Lazarus,  Cleophas,  Zaccheus;  Mary,  Salome, 
Martha,  the  sister  of  Lazarus,  and  others.  As 
they  discuss  plans  for  the  rescue  of  the  Christ,  who 
has  been  arrested  and  led  away  under  the  lash  of 
his  Roman  captors,  comes  Mary  Magdalene,  dis- 
hevelled, barefoot  —  to  plan  a  rescue,  to  arouse  the 
broken  spirit  of  Christ's  followers,  who  shrink  from 
the  thought  of  consequences.  Joseph  of  Arimathaea 
asserts  that  Christ  has  made  known  his  will  and 
desires  no  rescue  —  against  which  Mary  passion- 
ately protests.  "  We  save  those  whom  we  love ; 
we  listen  to  them  afterwards !  "  Hither  comes 
Verus  with  the  miracle  wrought  —  for  Pilate,  eager 
to  evade  responsibility,  has  consented  to  surrender 
Christ  to  Verus;  Christ  will  be  permitted  to  escape, 
for  which  Verus  will  suffer  exile.  To  a  Roman, 
death  is  sweet  compared  to  exile;  but  to  win  Mary, 
he  suffers  even  exile.     The  Christians  plead  with 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK         249 

Mary  to  yield  to  Verus;  but  in  the  moment  of 
spiritual  crisis,  she  seems  endowed  with  heavenly 
clairvoyance.  "  If  I  bought  his  life  at  the  price 
which  you  offer,  all  that  He  wished,  all  that  He 
loved,  would  be  dead !  I  should  be  destroying  him 
altogether,  destroying  more  than  himself,  to  gain  for 
him  days  that  would  destroy  everything.  .  .  ."  As 
Jesus  passes  beneath  the  window,  to  the  blood- 
thirsty shouts  of  the  mob,  "  Crucify  him  I  Crucify 
him  I  ",  the  Magdalene  stands  motionless  —  not 
bowed  down  with  grief  unutterable  —  but  transfixed, 
as  if  in  ecstasy,  illumined  with  the  light  of  eternity. 
In  that  sweet,  sad  vision  of  Soeur  Beatrice,  the 
Maeterlinck,  who  once  said  that  by  the  side  of 
women  "  one  has  at  times  a  momentary  but  distinct 
presentiment  of  a  life  that  does  not  seem  always 
to  run  parallel  with  the  life  of  appearances,"  re- 
vealed a  rare  power  of  emotive,  intuitive  subtlety. 
In  Mary  Magdalene  that  power  has  been  elevated 
to  an  even  higher  plane  of  serenity  and  wisdom. 
The  Magdalene  knows  the  secret  of  truth  —  she 
has  become  "  the  master  of  reality.''  Hers  is  the 
spiritual  divination  to  see  that  it  profiteth  not  to 
gain  the  whole  world,  even  the  salvation  of  the 
life  of  the  Master,  and  lose  one's  own  soul. 


OSCAR  WILDE 


''/  had  genius f  a  distinguished  name,  high  social 
position,  brilliancy,  intellectual  daring;  I  made  art 
a  philosophy  and  philosophy  an  art:  I  altered  the 
minds  of  men  and  the  colours  of  things:  there  was 
nothing  I  said  or  did  that  did  not  make  people 
wonder,  I  took  the  drama,  the  most  objective  form 
known  to  art,  and  made  of  it  as  personal  a  mode  of 
expression  as  the  lyric  or  the  sonnet;  at  the  same 
time  I  widened  its  range  and  enriched  its  character- 
ization. Drama,  novel,  poem  in  prose,  poem  in 
rhyme,  subtle  or  fantastic  dialogue,  whatever  I 
touched,  I  made  beautiful  in  a  new  mode  of  beauty: 
to  truth  itself  I  gave  what  is  false  no  less  than  what 
is  true  as  its  rightful  province,  and  showed  that  the 
false  and  the  true  are  merely  forms  of  intellectual 
existence,  I  treated  art  as  the  supreme  reality  and 
life  as  a  mere  mode  of  fiction..  .1  awoke  the  im- 
agination of  my  century  so  that  it  created  myth  and 
legend  around  me.  I  summed  up  all  systems  in  a 
phrase  and  all  existence  in  an  epigram.^^ 

De  Profundis. 

Wilde^s  Works.     Authorized  Edition, 

Vol,  XL,  pp.  45-46. 


OSCAR  WILDE 

In  this  age  of  topsy-turvydom  —  the  age  of  Nietz- 
sche, Shaw,  Wilde,  Chesterton  —  criticism  masquer- 
ades in  the  garb  of  iconoclasm;  and  fancy,  fantasy, 
caprice  and  paradox  usurp  the  roles  of  scholarship, 
realistic  valuation,  and  the  historic  sense.  The 
ancient  and  honorable  authority  of  the  critic  is  un- 
dermined by  the  complacent  scepticism  of  the  period. 
And  the  gentle  art  of  appreciation  is  only  the  in- 
dividual filtration  of  art  through  a  temperament. 
The  mania  for  certitude  died  with  Renan,  confidence 
had  its  last  leader  in  Carlyle,  and  authority  re- 
linquishes its  last  and  greatest  adherent  in  the 
death  of  Brunetiere.  The  ease  of  blasphemy  and 
the  commercialization  of  audacity  are  accepted  facts; 
we  have  lost  the  courage  and  simplicity  for  the  ex- 
pression of  the  truth  unvarnished  and  unadorned. 
"  We  know  we  are  brilliant  and  distinguished,  but 
we  do  not  know  that  we  are  right.  We  swagger  in 
fantastic  artistic  costumes;  we  praise  ourselves;  we 
fling  epigrams  right  and  left;  we  have  the  courage  to 
play  the  egotist,  and  the  courage  to  play  the  fool, 
but  we  have  not  the  courage  to  preach."  The  sym- 
bol of  art  is  no  longer  a  noble  muse,  but  only  a 

»53 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tricksy  jade.  Cntlcism,  once  the  art  of  imaginative 
interpretation,  is  now  mere  self-expression  —  as 
Anatole  France  puts  it,  **  the  adventures  of  a  soul 
among  masterpieces."  We  are  expected  to  believe 
that  the  greatest  pictures  are  those  in  which  there 
is  more  of  the  artist  than  the  sitter.  The  defects 
of  current  criticism  are  well  expressed  by  a  brilliant 
Frenchman  —  Charles  Nodier,  was  it  not?  —  in  the 
opinion  that  if  one  stops  to  inquire  into  the  probabil- 
ities, he  will  never  arrive  at  the  truth  I 

The  world  has  never  seen  an  age  in  which  there 
was  more  excuse  for  questioning  the  validity  of  con- 
temporary judgment.  It  would  be  the  height  of 
folly  to  expect  posterity  to  authenticate  the  vaporings 
of  an  appreciation  which,  in  shifting  its  stress  from 
the  universal  to  the  personnel,  has  changed  from 
criticism  into  colloquy,  from  clinic  into  causerie.  In- 
deed, it  Is  nothing  less  than  a  truism  that  the  experi- 
ence of  the  artist  in  all  ages,  according  to  the  verdict 
of  history,  is  identical  with  itself.  In  the  words  of 
Sidney  Lanier:  "  ...  the  artist  shall  put  forth, 
humbly  and  lovingly,  the  very  best  and  highest  that 
is  within  him,  utterly  regardless  of  contemporary 
criticism.  What  possible  claim  can  contemporary 
criticism  set  up  to  respect  —  that  criticism  which 
crucified  Jesus  Christ,  stoned  Stephen,  hooted  Paul 
for  a  madman,  tried  Luther  for  a  criminal,  tortured 
Galileo,  bound  Columbus  In  chains,  drove  Dante 
into    exile,    made    Shakspere    write    the    sonnet, 


OSCAR  WILDE  255 

*  WHen  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men*s  eyes,* 
gave  Milton  ^ve  pounds  for  *  Paradise  Lost,'  kept 
Samuel  Johnson  cooling  his  heels  on  Lord  Chester- 
field's doorstep,  reviled  Shelley  as  an  unclean  dog, 
killed  Keats,  cracked  jokes  on  Gluck,  Schubert,  Bee- 
thoven, Berlioz  and  Wagner,  and  committed  so 
many  other  impious  follies  and  stupidities  that  a 
thousand  letters  like  this  could  not  suffice  even  to 
catalogue  them?"  The  verdict  of  the  intellectuels 
has  always  been  a  veritable  stumbling  block  in  the 
path  of  genius. 

"  It  is  from  men  of  established  literary  reputa- 
tion," asserts  Bernard  Shaw,  **  that  we  learn  that 
William  Blake  was  mad;  that  Shelley  was  spoiled 
by  living  in  a  low  set ;  that  Robert  Owen  was  a  man 
who  did  not  know  the  world;  that  Ruskin  is  in- 
capable of  comprehending  political  economy;  that 
Zola  is  a  mere  blackguard,  and  Ibsen  is  Zola  with 
a  wooden  leg.  The  great  musician  accepted  by  his 
unskilled  listener,  is  vilified  by  his  fellow  musician. 
It  was  the  musical  culture  of  Europe  which  pro- 
nounced Wagner  the  inferior  of  Mendelssohn  and 
Meyerbeer." 

It  is  not  enough  to  say,  with  the  brilliant  author 
of  Contemporains,  that  contemporary  criticism  is 
mere  conversation;  it  is  often  little  more  than  mere 
gossip.  One  is  often  inclined  to  question,  with 
Lowell,  whether  the  powers  that  be,  in  criticism, 
are  really  the  powers  that  ought  to  be.     Especially 


256         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Is  this  true  of  a  time  uniquely  characterized  by  Its 
tendency  to  relentless  rehabilitation.  The  immoral 
iconoclast  of  a  former  age  becomes  the  saintly 
anarch  of  this.  The  jar  of  lampblack  Is  exchanged 
for  a  bucket  of  whitewash;  and  In  this  era  of  renova- 
tion the  soiled  linen  of  literary  sinners  emerges 
translucent  and  immaculate  from  the  presses  of  the 
critical  laundry.  We  are  darkly  and  Irretrievably 
given  over  Into  the  hands  of  those  whom  Mr.  Robert 
W.  Chambers  has  aptly  termed  ^'  repairers  of  repu- 
tations.** 

In  view  of  the  premises,  it  may  appear  at  once 
paradoxical  and  perverse  to  attempt  any  criticism 
at  all,  especially  of  the  works  of  a  man  like  Oscar 
Wilde,  whose  mere  name  to  many  is  a  synonym  foi^l 
the  appalling  degeneracy  of  an  age  lashed  by  the 
polemics  of  Ibsen,  the  objurgations  of  Tolstoi,  the 
satire  of  Shaw,  and  the  Invective  of  Nordau.  All 
that  pertains  to  Wilde  has  for  long  been  res  tacenda 
In  English  society;  and  he  himself,  to  use  his  own 
phrase,  has  passed  from  a  sort  of  eternity  of  fame 
to  a  sort  of  eternity  of  Infamy.  In  many  Instances, 
the  critical  works  dealing  with  Wilde  have  been 
marred  by  wrong-headed  judgment,  unhealthy  de- 
fence, and  attempted  justification.  The  fatal  flaw 
of  contemporary  criticism,  as  Brunetiere  says.  Is  that 
we  do  not  see  our  contemporaries  from  a  sufficient 
height  and  distance.  That  we  are  unable  to  profit 
by  what  Nietzsche  terms  "  the  pathos  of  distance,** 


OSCAR  WILDE  as? 

Is  a  deficiency  that  cannot  be  remedied.  But  at 
least  it  Is  the  prerogative  of  art,  peculiarly  of  the 
art  of  criticism,  to  make  the  attempt,  if  not  to  fix 
the  position,  certainly  to  express  judgment  upon  the 
work  of  contemporaries.  Irresistibly  there  arises 
the  conscientious  proposition  of  the  question  whether 
the  work  of  Wilde  is  worthy  of  genuine  critical 
study.  In  speaking  of  Sainte  Beuve,  self-styled  the 
"  naturalist  of  the  human  heart,"  Emile  Faguet  once 
remarked  that  men  are,  without  being  entirely  right, 
at  least  not  entirely  wrong  in  ignoring  many  faults 
In  the  man  who  possesses  the  virtue  proper  to  his 
own  profession.  People  are  accustomed  to  overlook 
dissipation  In  the  brave  soldier,  Intolerance  In  the 
compassionate  priest,  harshness  in  the  successful 
ruler.  One  might  even  instance  that  frail  woman, 
mentioned  in  Holy  Scripture,  who  was  forgiven  be- 
cause she  loved  much.  The  point  of  departure  for 
an  estimate  of  Wilde  is  to  be  found,  neither  In  a 
sense  of  outrage  against  society  nor  In  a  groping 
for  hopeless  excuse  behind  the  Imperfect  researches 
of  pathological  criminology.  The  reason  for  any 
future  study  of  Wilde  Is  to  be  found  either  in  the 
palliative  charm  of  his  personality  as  friend  and 
temperament  as  artist,  or  in  the  orchidaceous 
modernity  and  brilliant  exoticism  of  his  spoken  and 
written  art.  In  art,  as  In  life,  much  virtue  Inheres 
in  the  professional  conscience;  and  the  peccable  artist 
in  all  ages  has  been  granted  a  hearing  on  account 


258  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  his  unfaltering  love  of  art.  "  If  one  loves 
at  all,"  Wilde  once  wrote,  "  one  must  love  it  be- 
yond all  other  things  in  the  world,  and  against  such 
love  the  reason,  if  one  listened  to  it,  would  cry  out. 
There  is  nothing  sane  about  the  worship  of  beauty. 
It  is  something  entirely  too  splendid  to  be  sane. 
Those  of  whose  lives  it  forms  the  dominant  note 
will  always  seem  to  the  world  to  be  pure  visionaries." 
And  with  all  his  affectation  of  singularity,  his  as- 
sumption of  the  dangerous  and  delightful  distinction 
of  being  different  from  others,  his  joyous  treading 
of  the  primrose  path  of  self-exploitation,  his  aesthetic 
posturing,  charlatanry,  and  blague  —  Oscar  Wilde 
I  was  assuredly  a  personality  of  whose  life  art  formed 
the  dominant  note.  :M 

The  biography  of  such  souls  as  D^Annunzio,  Ver- 
laine,  Dowson,  or  Wilde  connotes  the  infinitely  deli- 
cate and  complex  task  of  tracing  that  thin  demarca- 
tive  line  which  divides  the  famous  from  the  infamous. 
Nor  is  the  contemplation  of  the  personal  failure  of 
a  brilliant  artist  like  Wilde  —  drifting  derelict  upon 
the  tumultuous  sea  of  passion  —  either  congenial 
or  edifying.  There  is  no  more  tragic  spectacle  than 
that  of  a  man  of  genius  who  is  not  a  man  of  honor. ; 
And  yet,  until  vaster  and  more  definitive  studies  of 
the  problems  of  homosexuality,  of  degeneracy,  and 
of  criminal  pathology  shall  have  been  completed, 
Wilde  will  continue  to  be  what  Byron  has  been 
aptly  termed:  "a  fascinating  trouble."     There  is 


OSCAR  WILDE  259 

a  sort  of  melancholy  fascination  inherent  in  the  de- 
termination of  the  causes  underlying  discrepancy  be- 
tween purpose  and  performance,  between  art  and 
morality.  The  spirit  warreth  against  the  flesh,  the 
flesh  against  the  spirit.  The  selfsame  soul  which 
joyfully  mounts  to  the  shining  summits  of  art  cries 
forth  its  despairing  Mea  Culpa  from  the  depths  of 
life.  In  the  heart  of  every  man  is  lodged  not  only 
a  Paradiso,  but  a  Purgatorio,  As  artist  and  man, 
Oscar  Wilde  might  truly  have  said  with  Omar 
Khayyam:     "  I  myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell." 

There  exists  no  more  salient  exemplification  of 
the  reality  of  the  identity  between  destiny  and  human 
character  than  is  to  be  discovered  in  the  case  of 
Oscar  Wilde.  The  crux  oi  his  mania  was  blindness 
to  the  truth  that  the  man  who  is  the  lackey  of  his 
passion  can  never  be  the  master  of  his  fate.  The 
secret  of  his  downfall  is  found  in  the  fact  that  this 
leader  in  the  ranks  of  individualism  was  not  the 
captain  of  his  own  soul.  **  Not  even  the  most  in- 
significant actions, '^  says  one  of  Echegaray's  char- 
acters in  El  Gran  GaleotOy  "  are  in  themselves 
insignificant  or  lost  for  good  or  evil.  For, 
concentrated  by  the  mysterious  influences  of  modern 
life,  they  may  reach  to  immense  effects.''  Wilde's 
life  signally  exemplifies,  in  Amiel's  words,  "  the 
fatality  of  the  consequences  incident  to  human  acts." 
It  was  Wilde's  tragedy  to  drink  to  the  dregs  "  the 
bitter  tonic  draught  of  experience,"  and  to  realize, 


26o  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

in  infinite  wretchedness  and  isolation,  the  trut 
George  Eliot's  dictum  that  consequences  are  unpity- 
ing.     In  his  own  words,  "  I.  forgot  that  every  little 
action  of  the  common  day  makes  or  unmakes  char- ; 
acter,  and  that  therefore  what  one  has  done  in  the  \ 
secret  chamber  one  has  some  day  to  cry  aloud  on  the  I 
housetop."     What  strange  and  pathetic  prophecy  in 
his  eery  poem,  Helas! 


To  drift  with  every  passion  till  my  soul 
Is  a  stringed  lute  on  which  all  winds  can  play, 
Is  it  for  this  that  I  have  given  away 
Mine  ancient  wisdom,  and  austere  control? 
Methinks  my  life  is  a  twice-written  scroll 
Scrawled  over  on  some  boyish  holiday 
With  idle  songs  for  pipe  and  virelay, 
Which  do  but  mar  the  secret  of  the  whole. 

Surely  there  was  a  time  I  might  have  trod 
The  sunlit  heights,  and  from  life's  dissonance 
Struck  one  clear  chord  to  reach  the  ears  of  God 
Is  that  time  dead?    Lo!  with  a  little  rod 
I  did  but  touch  the  honey  of  romance  — 
And  must  I  lose  a  soul's  inheritance? 

No  one  would  deny  to  Wilde  the  title  of  a  Prince 
of  Paradoxers.  And  yet  this  acolyte  of  the  obverse, 
to  whom  perversity  was  a  passion,  never  created  so 
puzzling  a  paradox  as  the  paradox  of  his  own  life. 
He  to  whom  humanity  was  always  a  disquieting 
prbblern  has  bequeathed  himself  as  a  far  more  dis- 


1 


OSCAR  WILDE  261 

quieting  problem  to  humanity.  Irony  incarnate,  yet 
unconscious,  lay  In  his  reiterated  injunction  that  it 
is  not  so  much  what  we  say,  nor  even  what  we  do, 
but  what  we  are  that  eternally  matters.  He  yearned 
to  live  and  to  live  more  abundantly — **  to  be,  to 
know,  to  feel  ...  to  go  through  everything,  to 
turn  every  page,  to  experience  all  that  can  be  ex- 
perienced upon  the  earth."  He  early  confessed  that 
he  *'  wanted  to  eat  of  the  fruit  of  all  the  trees  in  the 
garden  of  the  world  " ;  and  he  went  forth  into  the 
world  with  that  passion  in  his  soul.  But  he  ate  only 
the  bitter-sweet  fruit  of  the  trees  of  pleasure;  and 
it  turned  to  ashes  upon  his  tongue.  If  he  ate  of  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  it  was  knowledge 
of  evil,  not  of  good.  This  master  of  the  half-truth 
is  condemned  In  the  very  phrase;  it  was  the  fate 
of  his  character  not  simply  to  know,  but  to  wish  to 
know,  only  the  half  of  the  truth,  of  the  meaning 
of  life. 

"  Virtue,"  says  Bernard  Shaw,  "  consists,  not  in 
abstaining  from  vice,  but  in  not  desiring  it."  Judg- 
ing by  the  criterion  of  this  post-NIetzschean  valua- 
tion of  virtue,  Wilde  was,  constitutionally  and  con- 
genltally,  one  of  the  most  vicious  of  men.  If  Wilde 
could  be  termed  virtuous  in  any  sense.  It  was  in  no 
other  than  the  professional  sense.  In  his  life  as 
artist,  it  was  his  sincerity  to  be  insincere.  The  final 
verity  about  the  man  Is  that,  through  the  refractory 
lens  of  his  temperament,  all  truth  appeared  encased 


262  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

in  a  paradox.  Far  from  being  universal  or  fun3a^ 
mental,  truth  to  Wilde  was  so  individual,  so  personal 
a  thing  that  the  moment  it  became  the  property  of 
more  than  one  person,  it  became  a  falsehood.  If^ 
his  art  ever  ceased  to  live  for  its  own  sake,  it  was 
because  it  lived  for  Wilde's  sake.  Indeed  Wilde  was 
of  his  essence  what  the  French  call  personnel;  and 
a  work  of  art,  as  he  phrased  it,  is  always  the  unique 
result  of  an  unique  temperament.  To  Ibsen,  cre- 
ation in  art  consisted  in  holding  judgment-day  over 
oneself.  To  Wilde,  creation  in  art  consisted  in  the 
celebration  of  a  holiday  of  mentality.  In  the  guise 
of  interpreter  of  the  modern  spirit,  he  was  always 
happening  upon  the  discovery  of  a  great,  an  unique 
truth;  and  this  he  flippantly  and  condescendingly 
consented  to  communicate  to  that  boorish  monster, 
the  public.  Art  was  an  Ivory  tower  in  which  dwelt 
the  long-haired  seraph  of  the  sunflower.  The  drama 
was  merely  a  platform  for  the  flair  of  the  flaneur. 
All  the  world  was  a  stage  for  the  wearer  of  the 
green  carnation. 

It  has  ceased  to  be  a  paradox  to  attribute  an  ex- 
alted, if  extravagant  sense  of  virtue,  sanity,  and 
morality  to  Walt  Whitman,  to  Ellsee  Reclus,  to 
Bernard  Shaw.  Their  notions  of  right,  of  justice, 
and  of  morality  differ  from  those  of  the  average 
man  —  Zola's  Vhomme  moyen  sensual  —  In  that  they 
sharply  diverge  from,  and  not  Infrequently  trans- 
cend, the  conventional  standards,   the  perfunctory 


OSCAR  WILDE  263 

concepts  of  right  living  and  just  conduct.  If 
Wilde  could  be  said  to  have  any  morals,  it  was  a  faith 
in  the  artistic  validity  of  poetic  justice.  If  he  could 
be  said  to  have  any  conscience,  it  was  the  profes- 
sional conscience  of  the  impeccable  artist  —  of  Poe, 
of  Pater,  of  Sainte  Beuve.  If  he  could  be  said  to 
have  a  sense  of  right,  it  was  a  sense  of  the  right  of 
the  artist  to  live  his  own  untrammelled  life. 

Nothing  is  easier  than  acquiescence  in  Wilde's 
dictum  that  the  drama  is  the  meeting  place  of  art 
and  life.  And  yet  nowhere  more  clearly  than  in 
Wilde's  own  plays  do  we  find  the  purposed  divorce 
of  art  from  life.  It  was  his  fundamental  distinction, 
in  the  role  of  critic  as  artist,  to  trace  with  admirable 
clarity  the  line  of  demarcation  between  unimagina- 
tive realism  and  imaginative  reality.  The  methods 
of  Zola  and  the  Naturalistic  school  always  drew 
Wilde's  keenest  critical  thrusts.  The  greatest 
heresy,  in  his  opinion,  was  the  doctrine  that  art  con- 
sists in  holding  up  the  camera  to  nature.  He  was 
even  so  reactionary  as  to  assert  that  the  only  real 
people  are  the  people  who  never  exist.  The  view 
of  Stendhal,  that  fiction  Is  un  miroir  qui  se  promene 
sur  la  grande  route,  found  as  little  favor  in  his  eyes 
as  the  doctrine  of  Pinero  that  the  dramatists  are  the 
brief  and  abstract  chronometers  of  the  time.  The 
function  of  the  artist,  In  Wilde's  view,  is  to  invent, 
not  to  chronicle;  and  he  even  goes  so  far  as  to  say 
that  if  a  novelist  is  base  enough  to  go  to  life  for  his 


264         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


i 


personages,  he  should  at  least  pretend  that  they  are 
creations,  and  not  boast  of  them  as  copies.  To  the 
charge  that  the  people  in  his  stories  are  "  mere 
catchpenny  revelations  of  the  non-existent,"  he  un- 
blushingly  retorted:  "  Life  by  Its  realism  Is  always 
spoiling  the  subject-matter  of  art.  The  supreme 
pleasure  In  literature  Is  to  realize  the  non-existent." 

II 

One  year  before  Arthur  Pinero  and  two  years 
before  Bernard  Shaw,  Oscar  Fingal  O'Flahertie 
Wills  Wilde  was  born  at  No.  i  Merrion  Square, 
Dublin,  on  October  i6,  1854.  His  parents,  both 
brilliant  and  distinguished  figures,  took  a  leading 
part  in  the  life  of  their  age;  and  certain  of  the  dis- 
tinctive traits  of  each  find  striking  reproduction  in 
their  unhappy  son.  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir,  William 
Wilde,  Oscar's  father,  early  distinguished  himself 
in  the  field  of  letters;  but  the  logical  bent  of  his 
mind  was  toward  medical  study,  which  he  pursued 
in  London,  Berlin  and  Vienna.  He  devoted  his  first 
year's  fees  as  a  physician.  Indeed,  more,  the  first 
thousand  pounds  of  his  professional  earnings,  to  the 
founding  of  St.  Mark's  Ophthalmic  Hospital  where 
the  poor  could  be  treated  for  eye  and  ear  diseases; 
and  his  distinction  as  a  physician  won  him  the  title 
of  "  the  father  of  modern  otology."  He  received 
many  honors,  including  knighthood,  during  his  life- 
time ;  but  it  was  Oscar  Wilde's  misfortune  to  inherit 


OSCAR  WILDE  265 

from  his  father,  not  his  talents  as  a  scientific  spe- 
cialist, but  his  vicious  traits  as  immoralist  and  liber- 
tine. Just  as  Bernard  Shaw  derived  his  musical  bent 
from  his  mother,  so  Oscar  Wilde  derived  his  literary 
sense,  in  great  measure,  from  his  brilliant  mother  — 
Jane  Francesca  Elgee.  Signing  her  verses  "  Sper- 
anza  "  and  her  letters  "  John  Fanshaw  Ellis,"  this 
woman  of  genius,  as  Sir  Charles  Gavan  Duffy  called 
her,  contributed  frequently  to  The  Nation,  of 
Dublin,  from  1847  on;  and  her  celebrated  National- 
ist manifesto,  Jacta  Alea  Est,  inspired  by  Williams' 
The  Spirit  of  the  Nation,  gave  her  a  notoriety  little 
short  of  treasonable.  In  savoir  faire,  in  all  the  arts 
of  the  salon,  Lady  Wilde  was  unexcelled;  and  it  was 
the  testimony  of  all  who  met  her  that  she  was  a 
personage.  In  her  son  are  reproduced  certain 
marked  characteristics:  indifference  to  practical  af- 
fairs of  life,  brilliancy  in  the  art  of  social  converse, 
profound  aversion  to  "  the  miasma  of  the  common- 
place," and  a  moral  laxity  of  tone  in  conversation 
which,  in  her  case,  found  no  counterpart  in  her 
actual  life. 

"  Under  *  direct  inheritance  '  or  *  transmission  by 
blood,'  "  records  one  of  Wilde's  recent  biographers, 
"  may,  perhaps,  be  classed  his  literary  capacity,  his 
gifts  of  poetry,  languages,  of  ready  mastery  of  diffi- 
cult studies,  his  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  sound  com- 
mon-sense of  his  normal  periods,  his  family  and  per- 
sonal pride,  and  his  moral  courage  in  the  face  of  dan- 


266         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


ger,  but  also  an  indifference  to  the  dangers  of  alco 
holism,  an  aversion  from  failure,  physical,  social 
and  mental,  an  exaggerated  esteem,  on  the  other 
hand,  for  wealth,  titles  and  social  success,  a  tolerance 
for  moral  laxness." 

As  a  very  small  lad,  Oscar  was  spoken  of  by  his 
mother  as  "  wonderful,"  as  a  child  of  phenomenal 
versatility.  His  fondness  for  mystery  and  romance 
was  born  through  his  tours  with  his  father  in  quest 
of  archaeological  treasures;  and  his  natural  wit  was 
sharpened  by  listening  to  Ireland's  thought  and  wit 
In  the  salon  of  his  mother.  It  was  at  his  father's 
dinner-table  and  in  his  mother's  drawing-room,  as 
has  been  justly  said,  that  the  best  of  his  early  educa- 
tion was  obtained;  but  he  doubtless  gained  not  a 
little  from  his  schooling  at  the  Portora  Royal 
School.  He  had  no  aptitude  for  mathematics,  nor 
was  his  talent  for  composition  at  this  time  In  evi- 
dence; but  he  had  a  marvellous  faculty  of  Intellectual 
absorption,  mastering  the  contents  of  a  book  In  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time.  He  kept  aloof  from 
his  companions,  practised  his  wit  in  bestowing  nick- 
names upon  them,  and  enjoyed  nothing  more  than 
leading  his  teachers  into  long  discussions  of  some 
point  which  "  Intrigued  his  fancy."  His  brilliancy 
In  reading  and  Interpreting  the  classics  was  proven 
at  the  time  of  his  entrance  to  Trinity  College,  Dub- 
lin—  October,  1871.  Like  his  great-uncle  Ralph, 
Oscar  won  the  Berkeley  Gold  Medal  at  Trinity,  as 


OSCAR  WILDE  267 

well  as  a  scholarship ;  but  he  never  held  his  scholar- 
ship, preferring  to  seek  better  things  at  Oxford. 

"  I  want  to  get  to  the  point,"  Oscar  Wilde  says  in 
De  Profundis,  "  where  I  shall  be  able  to  say  quite 
simply,  and  without  affectation,  that  the  two  great 
turning-points  in  my  life  were  when  my  father  sent 
me  to  Oxford-and  when  society  sent  me  to  prison." 
Certain  It  is  that  at  Oxford  he  first  began  to  ex- 
hibit that  devotion  to  art,  that  attachment  to  litera- 
ture, and  that  passion  for  beauty  which  were  the 
foundations  for  whatsoever  of  value  is  to  be  found 
in  his  writings.  Here  he  sat  under  Ruskin;  and 
there  is  little  reason  to  doubt  that  the  artistic  and 
personal  influence  of  Ruskin  upon  Wilde  was  far 
from  inconsiderable.  "  The  influence  of  Ruskin  was 
so  great,"  we  read  in  a  biographical  notice  of  Wilde, 
"  that  Mr.  Wilde,  though  holding  games  in  abomina- 
tion, and  detesting  violent  exercise,  might  have  been 
seen  of  grey  November  mornings  breaking  stones  on 
the  roadside  —  not  unbribed,  however ;  *  he  had  the 
honour  of  filling  Mr.  Ruskin's  especial  wheelbar- 
row,' and  it  was  the  great  author  of  *  Modern 
Painters '  himself  who  taught  him  how  to  trundle 
it."  There  is,  however,  little  reason  to  believe,  in 
spite  of  the  evidence  of  The  Soul  of  Man  Under 
Socialism,  that  in  Wilde's  mind  were  sown  any  of 
the  seeds  of  that  "  practical  interest  in  social  questions 
which  is  the  *  Oxford  Movement  of  to-day.'  "  Rus- 
kin's  influence  upon  Wilde  is  chiefly  exhibited  in  the 


268  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

growth  of  the  latter's  artistic  tastes;  for  Wilde's 
rooms  at  Oxford  were  noted  for  their  beautiful 
decoration  and  for  the  display  of  collections  of 
"  objects  of  vertu!*  Recall  his  well-known  remark: 
"  Oh,  would  that  I  could  live  up  to  my  blue  china  I  ** 
In  his  early  Oxford  days  he  began  to  contribute  both 
prose  and  verse  to  magazines  published  in  Dublin, 
notably  to  Kottahos  and  The  Irish  Monthly,  About 
this  time  he  visited  Italy;  and  although  inclined, 
through  the  spiritual  element  in  art,  to  Roman  Ca- 
tholicism,—  even  writing  notable  poems  such  as 
Rome  Unvisitedy  which  won  high  praise  from  Cardi- 
nal Newman, —  his  faltering  faith  lacked  the  strength 
of  ultimate  conviction. 

Wilde's  journey  in  Greece  with  the  party  which 
accompanied  John  Pentland  Mahaffy  was  the  pro- 
foundest  determinative  influence  which  had  yet  come 
into  his  life.  And  If  It  did  not  make  of  him  a 
"  healthy  Pagan,"  certainly  it  was  a  confirmation  of 
all  his  dreams  and  visions  of  beauty  undreamed  and 
unimaginable.  In  his  own  words,  in  regard  to  this 
experience,  "  the  worship  of  sorrow  gave  place  again 
to  the  worship  of  beauty."  For  a  time  he  dreamed 
of  the  beauty  of  religion;  for  all  time  afterwards  he 
devoted  himself  In  art  to  the  religion  of  beauty.  It 
has  been  suggested  that  Wilde's  classical  studies  at 
Oxford  so  familiarized  him  with  certain  pathologi- 
cal manifestations  that  he  really  failed  to  realize 
their  horror;   and  the  brilliant   French   symbolist, 


OSCAR  WILDE  269 

Henri  de  Regnler,  does  not  hesitate  to  attribute  his 
downfall  to  the  fact  that  he  had  so  steeped  himself 
in  the  life  of  by-gone  days  that  he  did  not  realize 
the  world  in  which  he  was  actually  living.  Oscar 
Wilde  believed  that  **  he  lived  in  Italy  at  the  time 
of  the  Renaissance  or  in  Greece  at  the  time  of  Soc- 
rates. He  was  punished  for  a  chronological 
error.  .  .  ." 

During  his  stay  at  Oxford,  he  acquitted  himself 
very  ably  in  his  classes;  and  possibly  through  the 
happy  chance  that  Ravenna,  which  he  had  recently 
visited,  was  announced  as  the  topic  for  the  Newdi- 
gate  competition,  he  won  the  Newdigate  prize  for 
English  Verse  in  1878.  This  poem  exhibits  a  great 
advance  on  his  previous  work,  and  in  many  respects, 
despite  its  lack  of  a  controlling  central  thought,  de- 
serves high  praise.  On  leaving  Oxford,  he  went  up 
to  London  in  the  role  of  a  "  Professor  of  ^Esthetics 
and  Art  critic,"  according  to  Foster's  statement  In 
the  Alumni  Oxoniensis.  Now  he  began  to  assume 
that  "  affectation  of  singularity  "  which  so  distinc- 
tively marked  the  author  of  Melmoth  the  Wanderer 
—  that  eccentric  genius,  the  toast  of  Baudelaire  and 
Balzac  —  Oscar  Wilde's  great-uncle,  Charles  Mat- 
urin.  Like  Zola,  like  Shaw,  Wilde  realized  that 
this  is  an  age  of  push  and  advertisement.  He  saw 
years  of  neglect  at  the  hands  of  the  public  stretching 
out  drearily  before  him  If  he  did  not  force  himself, 
by  sensational  methods,  upon  its  attention.     When 


270  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

the  treasures  of  his  mentality  went  for  naught,  he 
unhesitatingly  focussed  the  public  gaze  upon  the 
eccentricities  of  his  personality.  Like  Thomas  Grif- 
fiths Wainewright,  he  assumed  the  "  dangerous  and 
delightful  distinction  of  being  different  from  others.** 
Prior  to  this  time,  his  garb  was  characterized  by  no 
marks  of  affectation  or  preciosity;  but  he  now  hit 
upon  the  spectacular  device  of  outre  and  bizarre 
costume.  Celebrities  often  exhibit  a  harmless  and 
pardonable  penchant  for  peculiarity  of  dress  —  the 
scarlet  waistcoat  of  Gautier,  the  monk's  cowl  of 
Balzac,  the  vaquero  costume  of  Joaquin  Miller.  In 
his  role  of  aesthete,  Wilde  wore  a  "  velvet  coat,  knee- 
breeches,  a  loose  shirt  with  a  turn-down  collar,  and 
a  floating  tie  of  some  unusual  shade,  fastened  in  a 
Lavalliere  knot,  and  he  not  infrequently  appeared  in 
public  carrying  in  his  hand  a  lily  or  a  sunflower, 
which  he  used  to  contemplate  with  an  expression  of 
the  greatest  admiration !  *'  It  was  Wilde*s  pompous 
pose,  as  the  high  priest  of  iEstheticism,  to  plume 
himself  upon  the  discovery  of  whatsoever  of  real 
beauty  exists  In  nature  and  art;  by  Inference,  those 
whose  eyes  were  not  thus  opened  to  the  miracles  of 
the  common  day  were  "  hopelessly  private  persons  " 
—  termed  Philistines.  Wilde  and  his  cult  were  shin- 
ing marks  for  the  wit,  satire  and  caricature  of  Du 
Maurler  and  Burnand;  W.  S.  Gilbert  caricatured 
Wilde  in  "  Patience,**  and  Punch  overflowed  with 


OSCAR  WILDE  271 

cartoons  and  skits  of  which  the  following  is  a  typical 
example : 

"^Esthete  of  ^Esthetes! 
What's  in  a  name? 
The  poet  is  WILDE 
But  his  poetry's  tame." 

Wilde's  notoriety  was  enhanced  by  a  pseudo  social 
lionization;  but  in  spite  of  a  certain  sort  of  super- 
ficial lustre  attaching  to  him,  he  was  regarded  with 
suspicion  —  the  suspicion  that  at  any  time  his  lion's 
skin,  as  in  the  fable,  might  fall  to  the  ground  and 
reveal  only  a  braying  ass.  Thus  he  began  his  career 
under  the  cloud  of  a  not  unjustifiable  suspicion  of 
reclame^  quackery,  and  Imposture;  and  it  is  a  sus- 
picion that  not  only  his  life,  but  even  his  death,  have 
been  Inadequate  to  allay.  At  any  rate  his  notoriety, 
though  won  by  questionable  and  unworthy  means, 
enabled  him  to  secure  a  publisher  for  his  first  volume 
of  verse ;  and  won  him  an  invitation  to  lecture  In  the 
United  States.  He  was  encouraged  to  visit  Amer- 
ica not  as  the  author  of  a  book  of  poems  which  had 
been  most  widely  read  in  America,  but  as  the  much- 
discussed  leader  of  the  "  ^Esthetic  Movement  and 
School."  Some  verses  in  the  World,  in  which  Wilde 
IS  labelled  "  Ego  Up  to  Snuffibus  Poeta  "  appeared 
just  before  his  departure  for  New  York;  they 
sound  the  dominant  note  of  public  opinion: 


272  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

"  Albeit  nurtured  in  Democracy, 

And  liking  best  that  state  Bohemian 

Where  each  man  borrows  sixpence  and  no  man 

Has  aught  but  paper  collars ;  yet  I  see 

Exactly  where  to  take  a  liberty. 

"  Better  to  be  thought  one,  whom  most  abuse 
For  speech  of  donkey  and  for  look  of  goose, 

Than  that  the  world  should  pass  in  silence  by. 
Wherefore  I  wear  a  sunflower  in  my  coat. 

Cover  my  shoulders  with  my  flowing  hair. 
Tie  verdant  satin  round  my  open  throat, 

Culture  and  love  I  cry,  and  ladies  smile, 

And  seedy  critics  overflow  with  bile, 

While  with  my  Prince  long  Sykes's  meal  I  share.*' 

1 

Wilde  paid  to  the  full  the  penalty  for  making 
himself  a  "  motley  to  the  view.^*  Never  afterwards 
was  he  allowed  to  forget  that  the  way  of  the  hla- 
giieur  is  hard.  Hj 

In  America  he  was  greeted  with  amused  incred- 
ulity, treated  as  a  diverting  sort  of  literary  curiosity, 
ridiculed,  satirized,  caricatured.  His  intellectual  ar- 
rogance gave  tone  to  his  remark  at  the  New  York 
Customs  House:  "I  have  nothing  to  declare  but 
my  genius."  He  was  violently  attacked  In  many 
quarters,  and  few  cared  to  face  the  ridicule  Inevitably 
consequent  to  any  defence  of  his  theories  and  prac- 
tice. Not  a  few  personages  of  distinction,  never- 
theless, showed  him  courtesy  and  hospitality,  among 


OSCAR  WILDE  273 

whom  may  be  mentioned  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Julia 
Ward  Howe,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Clara  Mor- 
ris, Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  Joaquin  Miller, 
General  Grant  and  the  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 
Although  Wilde,  as  one  of  his  friends  records,  suf- 
fered poignantly  from  the  attacks  directed  against 
him,  he  cannot  be  absolved  from  the  charge  of  oc- 
casionally provoking  them.  "  I  am  not  exactly 
pleased  with  the  Atlantic.  It  is  not  so  majestic  as 
I  expected,"  gave  rise  to  an  infinitude  of  humorous 
verse ;  and  his  oft-quoted  remark  about  Niagara  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  clever  bait  thrown 
out  to  the  press:  "  I  was  disappointed  with 
Niagara.  Most  people  must  be  disappointed  with 
Niagara.  Every  American  bride  is  taken  there,  and 
the  sight  of  the  stupendous  waterfall  must  be  one 
of  the  earliest  if  not  the  keenest  disappointments  in 
American  married  life."  Such  provoking  pleas- 
antries Inevitably  excited  amused  comment  —  notably 
his  description  of  American  girls  as  "  little  oases  of 
pretty  unreasonableness  In  a  vast  desert  of  practical 
common-sense."  Most  people  attended  his  lectures 
out  of  vulgar  curiosity  to  see  and  to  laugh  at  this 
licensed  buffoon;  it  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  them, 
as  we  read  In  a  contemporary  review  In  the  Sun, 
that  his  lecture  was  "  not  a  performance  so  trifling 
as  to  insult  the  intelligence  of  the  audience,  but  a 
carefully  prepared  essay  which  proves  Its  author 
to  be  a  man  of  cultivation,  taste,  imagination,  educa- 


274  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

tion  and  refinement."  One  of  his  lectures  was  de- 
scribed to  me,  by  one  who  heard  it,  as  a  weak  solution 
of  Ruskin;  and  this  is  a  fair  indication  of  the  con- 
temporary valuation.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is 
that  his  lecture  on  the  English  Renaissance  was 
a  very  artistic  and  capable,  if  somewhat  paradoxical 
and  precious  appreciation  of  the  significance  of  that 
movement.  And  his  Decorative  Art  in  America 
was  a  simple  and  straightforward  expression  of 
many  sane,  practical  truths  which  the  utilitarian 
thrust  of  modern  art  has  amply  substantiated.  Not 
by  any  means  is  it  to  be  understood  that  Wilde 
originated  all  the  ideas  he  gracefully  presented;  he 
simply  gave  concrete  expression  to  much  that  was  in 
the  air  in  the  art  criticism  of  the  day.  "  As  a  plea 
for  the  encouragement  of  the  handicraftsman," 
writes  Mr.  Glaenzer  In  regard  to  Decorative  Art 
in  America;  "  for  the  rejection  of  the  hideously 
naturalistic  tendency  in  house-furnishing;  for  the  es- 
tablishment of  museums,  enriched  by  the  finest  ex- 
amples from  the  finest  periods  of  decorative  art; 
for  their  beautiful  surroundings  for  children,  and  for 
schools  in  which  these  children  might  develop  their 
artistic  proclivities  under  the  guidance  of  artists  and 
capable  artisans  —  as  a  plea  for  all  that  is  beautiful, 
noble  and  sane  in  art,  this  lecture  falls  little  short 
of  being  a  masterpiece." 

Now  that  his  "  apostolic  task,"  to  his  secret  re- 
lief, was  concluded,  Wilde  lightly  disclaimed  any  in- 


OSCAR  WILDE  275 

tention  of  continued  charlatanry.  Of  his  connection 
with  the  ^Esthetic  Movement,  he  said  In  1883: 
**  That  was  the  Oscar  WUde  of  the  second  period. 
I  am  now  In  my  third  period."  He  settled  in  Paris 
in  the  Hotel  Voltaire,  and  soon  made  himself 
known,  through  presentation  copies  of  his  Poems,  to 
a  number  of  the  leading  figures  In  the  world  of  art 
and  letters  In  Paris.  Well  received  In  many  quar- 
ters, Wilde  numbered  among  his  acquaintances  Victor 
Hugo,  Edmond  de  Goncourt,  Paul  Bourget,  Al- 
phonse  Daudet,  Sarah  Bernhardt,  and  many  of  the 
leaders  of  the  Impressionist  school  of  painters.  His 
success  In  Parisian  circles  would  have  been  greater 
if  he  had  only  possessed  the  necessary  reserve  and 
tact.  His  desire  to  "  astonish  the  natives,"  to  in- 
dulge In  affectations  and  extravagances  of  dress,  and 
to  talk  paradoxical  stuff  about  art  and  letters,  rather 
rubbed  the  Parisians  the  wrong  way.  He  took 
Balzac  for  his  model,  wore  the  Balzacian  cowl  when- 
ever he  was  at  work,  and  carried  on  the  street  a 
replica  of  that  celebrated  Canne  de  Monsieur  Balzac 
perpjetuated  In  the  novel  of  Delphlne  Gay.  His 
imitation  of  Balzac  took  one  good  direction:  he  be- 
gan to  take  Infinite  pains  with  his  art.  During 
this  period  Wilde  wrote  The  Duchess  of  Padua,  a 
five-act  drama  In  the  Elizabethan  style.  Under  the 
influence  of  Poe,  through  Baudelaire,  whose  Fleurs 
de  Mai  made  a  profound  Impression  upon  Wilde, 
he  wrote  a  strangely  pagan  and  sensual  poem  The 


276  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Sphinx  —  an  excellent  type  of  the  derivative  poem, 
of  the  art  which  is  not  spontaneous.  But  all  his 
diligent  application  temporarily  went  for  naught. 
The  Duchess  of  Padua  was  refused  by  Mary  Ander- 
son for  whom  it  was  written;  and  the  proceeds  of 
the  sale  of  Wilde's  property  in  Ireland  could  not 
long  survive  the  onslaughts  made  upon  it  by  his 
extravagant  mode  of  life;  his  literary  work  brought 
him  nothing.  And  so,  in  the  summer  of  1883,  he 
returned  to  London  to  try  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes. 
There  he  was  conspicuously  dedicated  to  oblivion  by 
a  prominent  journal  in  an  article  entitled  "  Exit 
Oscar."  To  which  Wilde  buoyantly  replied :  "  If 
it  took  Labouchere  three  columns  to  prove  that  I 
was  forgotten,  then  there  Is  no  difference  between 
fame  and  obscurity." 

During  the  years  from  1883  to  1891,  the  output 
of  Wilde  was  quite  small  —  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  art  of  living  rather  than  to  the  art  of  writing. 
For  a  time,  at  first,  he  was  compelled  once  more 
to  take  the  lecture  platform,  this  time  In  England; 
but  he  resolutely  refused  to  make  capital  out  of  the 
eccentricities  of  his  personal  appearance  and  cos- 
tume. During  one  of  his  lecture  tours,  he  met  In 
Dublin  the  lovely  Constance  Lloyd,  who  became  his 
wife  on  May  29,  1884.  Mrs.  Wilde's  dowry  en- 
abled the  young  couple  to  lease  a  house  in  Tite 
Street,  decorated  under  the  direction  of  Whistler, 
who  became  a  close  acquaintance  of  Wilde.     Garbed 


OSCAR  WILDE  277 

in  a  charming  "  aesthetic  "  costume  of  the  period, 
Constance  Wilde  was  a  beautiful  picture  in  the  artis- 
tic Tite  Street  setting  with  her  chestnut  hair  touched 
with  gold,  blue-green  eyes,  brunette  skin  with  vivid 
cheeks  and  lips.  Decoration  not  entertainment  was 
her  role;  for  while  bright  in  manner  and  conversa- 
tion, she  paled  into  insignificance  in  face  of  the  con- 
versational dazzle  of  her  husband.  This  couple  for 
a  time  were  the  cynosure  of  fashionable  London. 
Wilde's  mots  were  repeated  everywhere;  and  Mrs. 
Wilde's  sartorial  taste  set  the  fashion.  Even  the 
slightest  details  of  the  Wilde  household  were  chron- 
icled as  matters  of  interest  in  the  social  and  artistic 
world.  For  several  years  Wilde  wrote  various 
signed  and  unsigned  articles  for  the  press,  purely 
ephemeral  in  character,  and  a  number  of  those 
beautiful  modern  fairy  tales  which  combine  a 
delicacy  of  fancy  with  a  touch  of  social  philosophy, 
rarely  charming  and  arresting.  But  it  became  in- 
creasingly difficult  for  Wilde  to  earn  a  living;  and 
even  Whistler  —  in  The  Gentle  Art  of  Making  Ene- 
mies—  took  a  hand  in  facilitating  his  downhill 
progress.  When  Messrs.  Cassell  and  Company  of- 
fered him  the  editorship  of  The  Woman^s  World 
in  1887,  he  was  in  no  position  to  refuse;  and  his 
connection  with  that  magazine  lasted  from  October, 
1887,  to  September,  1889.  If  he  was  not  precisely 
a  success  as  an  editor,  though  conscientious  and  in- 
dustrious at  this  period,  it  was  because  his  taste  was 


278  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

too  refined,  too  artistic  and  subtle  for  the  clientele 
of  his  magazine.  It  is  the  verdict  of  his  greatest 
admirers,  especially  among  foreign  critics,  that  the 
works  which  he  wrote  between  the  time  of  his  mar- 
riage and  the  year  1892  entitle  him  to  an  exalted 
place  in  English  literature,  and  give  him  rank  as  a 
philosopher  of  acute  penetration  and  delicate  insight. 
There  were  The  Happy  Prince  and  The  House  of 
Pomegranates  —  fanciful  Mdrchen  shot  through 
with  a  sensitive  and  beautiful  social  pity,  like  em- 
broidered, jewelled  fabrics  firmly  filiated  with  a 
crimson  thread.  There  was  The  Picture  of  Dorian 
Gray,  reminiscent  of  Balzac's  Peau  de  Chagrin,  rich 
in  opulent  fancy,  in  subtle  mystery,  and  in  the 
strangely  ominous  prevision  of  its  author's  own  com- 
ing fate.  And  there,  too,  was  The  Soul  of  Man 
Under  Socialism,  that  brilliant  and  paradoxical  rev- 
elation of  Wilde's  temperament  —  a  brochure  which 
has  gone  triumphantly  forth  to  the  very  ends  of  the 
earth.  Last,  and  highest,  was  Intentions,  that  mi- 
raculous masterpiece  of  connected  writings,  with  its 
inverted  truisms  and  forthright  paradoxes,  its  fanci- 
ful reasoning  and  reasonable  fancy  —  quintessence 
of  style,  of  form,  of  taste  in  art. 

During  the  years  from  1892  to  1895,  Wilde 
attained  to  remarkable  success  as  a  playwright;  and 
at  last  the  rewards  of  literature  flowed  without  ces- 
sation Into  the  pockets  of  this  lavish  spendthrift. 
Lady  Windermere^ s  Fan,  A  Woman  of  No  Impor- 


OSCAR  WILDE  279 

tancCj  An  Ideal  Husband,  and  The  Importance  of 
Being  Earnest,  were  phenomenal  successes;  and  at 
one  time  three  of  Wilde's  plays  could  have  been  wit- 
nessed on  a  single  night  in  London.  But  in  March, 
1895,  the  downfall  came;  and  the  information  for 
criminal  libel  which  Wilde,  in  a  state  verging  upon 
intoxication,  laid  against  the  Marquess  of  Queens- 
berry,  was  the  beginning  of  his  undoing.  Wilde  at 
last  was  hoist  by  his  own  petard.  The  history  of  the 
two  trials,  Wilde's  condemnation  and  disgrace,  his 
two  years  of  poignant  anguish  and  physical  suffering 
in  prison,  his  subsequent  piteous  descent  to  disaster 
and  death  —  the  harrowing  details  may  be  learned 
elsewhere.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  his  predisposition 
to  vice  through  inheritance,  the  fearful  effect  upon 
him  of  intoxicants  which  seemed  to  lash  his  brain 
to  madness,  and  the  indulgence  in  ultra-stimulative 
food  and  drink  in  the  two  or  three  years  imme- 
diately preceding  his  disgrace  serve,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  specialist  in  pathology  and  degeneracy,  as  In- 
dicative causes  of  his  downfall  and  ruin.  There 
survive  from  the  days  of  imprisonment  his  greatest 
poem  The  Ballad  of  Reading  Gaol,  and  that  soul 
autobiography  De  Profundis  —  morbid,  pitiable,  yet 
wonderful  mixture  of  confession  and  palliation, 
penance  and  defiance,  self-incrimination  and  excul- 
pation. Wonderful  document  —  true  confession  or 
disingenuous  plea,  soul  creed  or  soul  blasphemy! 
"  Man  is  least  himself  when  he  talks  in  his  own 


28o         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


n 


person.  Give  him  a  mask  and  he  will  tell  you  the 
truth."  There  Is  no  means,  to  be  sure,  of  escaping 
the  everlasting  return  of  life  upon  art  —  art,  the 
mirror  which  the  Narcissus  of  artists  holds  up  to 
himself.  Let  us,  however,  remember  with  Novalis 
that  he  who  is  of  power  higher  than  the  first  is  a  gen- 
ius. Nietzsche  says,  "  All  that  is  profound  loves 
a  mask."  And  even  if,  occasionally  and  unwittingly, 
we  traverse  the  circuit  from  art  to  life,  at  least  we 
may  have  the  satisfaction  of  making  the  attempt  to 
dissociate  the  merits  of  the  dramatist  from  the 
demerits  of  the  man. 

i| 

In  1882,  Wilde  wrote  to  Mr.  R.  D'Oyly  Carte,  " 
manager  of  the  Savoy  Theatre,  London,  that  his 
play  Vera;  or  The  Nihilists  was  meant  not  to  beflj 
read,  but  to  be  acted.  This  opinion  has  never 
received  any  support  from  either  critic  or  public. 
Written  when  Wilde  was  only  twenty-two  years  old 
{The  New  York  Worlds  August  12,  1883),  this 
play  early  enrolled  him  under  that  drapeau  roman- 
tique  des  jeunes  guerriers  of  which  Theophlle 
Gautler  speaks;  yet  the  time  doubtless  came  when 
Wilde  regarded  Vera,  as  he  certainly  regarded 
his  first  volume  of  poems,  merely  In  the  light  of  a 
youthful  indiscretion.  Unlike  Ibsen,  Pinero  or 
Phillips,  Wilde  was  fortified  by  experience  neither  as 
actor  nor  manager;  there  Is  no  record  that  he  ever. 


OSCAR  WILDE  281 

like  Bernard  Shaw,  acted  even  In  amateur  theatricals. 
A  cousin  in  near  degree  to  W.  G.  Wills,  the  drama- 
tist, painter  and  poet,  Wilde  may  have  derived  his 
dramaturgic  talent  in  some  measure  from  the  same 
source.  In  youth  he  learned  the  graceful  arts  of 
conversation  in  the  brilliant  salon  of  his  mother. 
Lady  Wilde;  and  his  predilection  for  the  dialogue 
form  early  revealed  itself  in  certain  of  his  critical 
essays. 

The  play  Vera  ushers  us  into  the  milieu  of 
Henry  Seton  Merriman's  The  Sowers,  but  it  bears 
all  the  fantastic  earmarks  of  the  yellow-backed  fus- 
tian of  the  melodramatic  yarn-spinner,  Marchmont. 
One  might  easily  imagine  it  to  be  the  boyish  effusion 
of  a  romantic  youth  in  the  more  recent  day  of  Von 
Plehve,  Gorki,  and  the  Douma.  "  As  regards  the 
play  itself,''  wrote  Wilde  to  the  American  actress, 
Marie  Prescott,  in  July,  1883,  "I  have  tried  in  it 
to  express  within  the  limits  of  art  that  Titan  cry  of 
the  people  for  liberty  which,  in  the  Europe  of  our 
day,  is  threatening  thrones  and  making  Govern- 
ments unstable  from  Spain  to  Russia,  and  from 
north  to  southern  seas.  But  it  is  a  play,  not  of 
politics,  but  of  passion.  It  deals  with  no  theories 
of  Government,  but  with  men  and  women  simply; 
and  modern  Nihilistic  Russia,  with  all  the  terror  of  its 
tyranny  and  the  marvel  of  its  martyrdoms,  is 
merely  the  fiery  and  fervent  background  In  front 
of  which  the  persons  of  my  dream  live  and  love. 


( 


282  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


With  this  feeling  was  the  play  written,  and  with  this 
aim  should  the  play  be  acted.'*  Despite  these  lofty 
and  promising  words,  the  play  warrants  no  serious 
consideration  —  even  though  It  won  the  admiration 
of  the  great  American  actor,  Lawrence  Barrett. 

A  pscudo-F  oiks  drama,  Vera  Images  the  con- 
flict between  despotism  and  nihilism,  between  a 
vacillating,  terror-obsessed  Czar  and  a  Russian 
Charlotte  Corday.  The  "  love  Interest "  Inheres  in 
the  struggle  of  the  Czarevitch,  who  is  in  sympathy 
with  the  people,  between  his  duty  to  the  Empire 
and  his  love  for  the  people's  champion,  the  Nihll- 
iste  Vera.  The  theme  Is  one  that  well  might  fire 
to  splendid  efforts;  but  Instead  of  creatures  of  flesh 
and  blood,  looming  solid  In  a  large  humanity,  we 
see  only  thin  cardboard  profiles  —  bloodless  puppets 
shifted  hither  and  thither,  as  with  Sardou,  at  the 
bidding  of  the  mechanical  showman.  One-sided  In 
the  possession  of  only  one  feminine  role,  the  play  Is 
largely  taken  up  with  Interminable  passages  of 
pointless  persiflage  between  superfluous  characters. 
To  one  who  knows  the  later  WUde,  Vera  seems 
less  like  a  predecessor  of  the  comedies  than  a  con- 
temporary parody;  this  WUde  has  acquired  no  mas- 
tery of  the  arts  of  epigram,  paradox  and  repartee. 
In  the  denouement,  Vera,  chosen  by  lot  to  assassinate 
her  lover  the  Czarevitch,  now  become  Czar,  turns 
upon  her  own  breast  the  dagger  meant  for  him,  and 
then  tosses  it  over  the  balcony  to  the  ravening  con- 


OSCAR  WILDE  283 

splrators  below  with  the  cry,  "  I  have  saved  Rus- 
sia !  " —  this  is  the  very  acme  of  the  "  theatric  "  in 
the  worst  sense,  the  very  quintessence  of  Adelphi 
melodrama.  Not  inapposite,  perhaps,  was  the 
characteristic  paragraph  in  Punch  (December  10, 
188 1 )  under  Impressions  du  Theatre:  — 

The  production  of  Mr.  Oscar  Wilde's  play  "  Vera "  is 
deferred.  Naturally  no  one  would  expect  a  Veerer  to  be 
at  all  certain;  it  must  be,  like  a  pretendedly  infallible  fore- 
cast, so  very  weather-cocky.  "  Vera  "  is  about  Nihilism ; 
this  looks  as  If  there  was  nothing  in  It.  But  why  did  Mr.  O. 
Wilde  select  the  Adelphi  for  his  first  appearance  as  a 
dramatic  author,  In  which  career  we  wish  him  all  the  success 
he  may  deserve?  Why  did  he  not  select  the  Savoy?  Surely 
where  there's  a  donkey  cart  —  we  should  say  D'Oyly  Carte 
—  there  ought  to  be  an  opportunity  for  an  'Os-car  ? 

In  the  Wilde  of  the  "  third  period,"  as  he  de- 
scribed himself  in  1883,  is  revealed  a  strangely  dif- 
ferent man  from  the  apostle  of  aestheticism.  If  he 
has  not  learned  to  scorn  delights,  at  least  he  has 
learned  to  live  laborious  days.  He  takes  up  his 
quarters  at  the  Hotel  Voltaire  in  Paris,  and  though 
still  guilty  of  affectation  in  his  assumption  of  the 
cane  and  cowl  of  Balzac,  yet  he  takes  the  great 
French  master  for  his  model  and  disciplines  himself 
to  that  unremitting  labor  which,  in  Balzac's  view,  is 
the  sine  qua  non,  the  law,  of  art.  Recall  the 
precious  anecdote  of  Wilde's  day's  work  upon  his 


284         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

manuscript  —  deleting  a  comma  In  the  forenoon  and 
re-inserting  it  in  the  afternoon  I  In  these  days  of 
the  theatrical  "  star,"  for  whom  *'  parts  "  are  es- 
pecially written  —  Cyrano  for  Coquelin,  Vanna  for 
Mme.  Maeterlinck,  the  Sorceress  for  Bernhardt, 
Ulysses  for  Tree,  Lady  Cicely  Waynflete  for  Terry, 
and  so  on  —  Wilde  thought  to  play  his  part  In  writ- 
ing The  Duchess  of  Padua  for  Mary  Anderson,  the 
distinguished  actress,  now  Mrs.  de  Navarro. 

In  a  letter  to  The  Times,  London,  March  3, 
1 893,  Wilde  affirmed :  **  I  have  never  written  a  play 
for  any  actor  or  actress,  nor  shall  I  ever  do  so. 
Such  work  Is  for  the  artisan  in  literature,  not  for 
the  artist.''  This  affirmation  Is  both  illogical  and 
disingenuous;  and  is  belled  by  the  account  of  his 
biographer. 

The  Duchess  of  Padua,  with  its  Websterian 
title,  is  a  play  laid  In  the  sixteenth  century  —  century 
of  tears  and  terror,  of  poetry  and  passion,  of  mad- 
ness and  blood.  While  lounging  In  his  cowl,  in  Imi- 
tation of  Balzac,  Wilde  was  evidently  studying 
Victor  Hugo  instead;  and  in  The  Duchess  of  Padua 
there  Is  not  a  little  besides  of  the  bombast,  fustian 
and  balderdash  of  Webster  and  Tourneur.  In  re- 
ality. The  Duchess  of  Padua  is  an  almost  lyrical 
echo  of  the  Shaksperean  strain  —  positively  raptur- 
ous In  Imltatlveness.  If  Lady  Macbeth,  after  the 
murder,  say  that  "  A  little  water  clears  us  of  this 
deed,"  and,  later,  "  Who  would  have  thought  the 


OSCAR  WILDE  a^S 

old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  In  him/*  Wilde's 
Duchess,  after  killing  her  husband,  voices  the  juven- 
ile plagiarism : 

"  I  did  not  think  he  would  have  bled  so  much,  but 
I  can  wash  my  hands  in  water  after/' 

If  Dogberry  voices  the  opinion  that  '*  they  that 
touch  pitch  will  be  defiled,"  Wilde's  dispenser  of 
comic  relief  can  cap  it  only  with  such  feeble  repetition 
as,  "  if  one  meddles  with  wicked  people  one  is  like 
to  be  tainted  with  their  wickedness."  Unable  to 
catch  the  magic  sheen  and  heroic  gleam  of  his 
original,  Wilde  gives  us  not  an  original  creation  but 
an  appreciative  commentary  marred  by  its  false 
rhetoric,  exaggerativeness,  and  toploftical  strain. 
Wilde  was  only  too  ready  to  employ  the  "  strong  " 
curtain,  after  the  fashion  set  by  Hugo,  as  a  conces- 
sion to  modern  taste ;  in  every  other  respect,  this  play, 
in  pure  externals,  is  so  faithful  in  its  reproduction  of 
the  Elizabethan  style  as  to  seem  but  one  remove 
from  refined  caricature. 

And  yet  the  play  possesses  real  interest  and 
charm,  not  perhaps  for  its  subject  but  because  of  its 
spiritual  and  emotional  content  —  the  violently 
transitional  moods  of  romantic  passion.  It  Is  a  tale, 
in  five  acts,  of  the  love  of  the  gentle  Beatrice, 
Duchess  of  Padua,  and  of  the  young  Guldo  Fer- 
rantl,  sworn  to  avenge  the  inhuman  murder  of  his 
noble  father  at  the  hands  of  the  old  and  heartless 
Duke,  the  husband  of  Beatrice.     Ferranti  and  Bea- 


286  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

trice  have  just  confessed  their  love  for  each  other, 
when  the  pre-arranged  message  reaches  Ferranti 
that  the  hour  to  strike  down  the  Duke  Is  come.  He 
tears  himself  away  from  Beatrice  In  definitive  fare- 
well, with  poignant  agony,  crying  out  that  a  certain 
Insurmountable  obstacle  stands  In  the  way  of  their 
love.  That  night,  as  he  pauses  outside  the  Duke's 
chamber  meditating  upon  assassination,  there  comes 
to  Ferranti  the  belated  recognition  not  only  that  he 
can  never  approach  Beatrice  again  with  the  blood 
of  the  murdered  Duke  upon  his  hands,  but  that  such 
a  revenge  Is  deeply  unworthy  of  the  memory  of  his 
noble  father.  But  as  Anael  comes  forth  from  the 
murder  of  the  Prefect  to  her  Djabal,  comes  forth 
Beatrice  to  her  Guido.  For  under  the  tyranny  of 
her  love  for  Guido,  she  has  slain  him  to  whom  she 
was  ever  but  a  worthless  chattel  —  the  Duke,  the  sole 
obstacle  to  the  fulfilment  of  her  passion.  Guido  re- 
coils from  her  upon  whose  hands  is  the  blood  which 
he  himself  had  solemnly  —  but  suddenly !  —  refused 
to  shed.  And  though  Beatrice,  like  Juliet,  Is  trans- 
formed Into  a  very  "  Von  Moltke  of  love,"  she  can- 
not, with  all  the  mustered  array  of  her  forces,  storm 
the  bastion  of  Guido's  soul.  So  sudden  and  so  su- 
preme is  her  own  revulsion  of  feeling  that  she  finds 
herself  passionately  denouncing  Ferranti  to  the 
passers-by  as  the  assassin  of  her  husband.  Follows 
the  trial  of  Ferranti  for  his  life  —  a  scene  quite  mem- 
orable for  Its  undulation  of  emotional  process,  the 


OSCAR  WILDE  287 

conflicting  fears  and  hopes  of  the  heart-wrung 
Duchess,  and  the  crisis:  Ferranti's  false  confession 
that  the  murderer  is  none  other  than  himself.  Vis- 
iting the  condemned  Ferranti  in  his  cell,  the  heart- 
broken Duchess,  in  the  excess  of  her  spiritual  agony, 
takes  poison;  and  Guido,  realizing  at  last  the  inner, 
essential  nobility  of  her  character,  avows  for  her 
his  undying  love,  and  dies  upon  the  point  of  his 
dagger. 

The  Duchess  of  Padua  is  noteworthy  for  its  ten- 
der lyrism,  the  delicate  beauty  of  its  imagery,  and 
its  glow  of  youthful  fire;  and  despite  its  mimetic 
stamp,  displays  real  power  in  instrumentation  of 
feeling  and  in  the  temperamental  and  passional 
shades  of  its  mood.  The  play  links  itself  to  Hardy 
and  to  Whitman,  rather  than  to  Shakspere,  In  its 
intimation  of  purity  of  purpose  as  the  sole  criterion 
of  deed.  For  here  Wilde,  concerned  less  with  the 
primitive  basis  of  Individuality  than  with  the  funda- 
mental impulses  of  instinctive  temperament,  reveals 
life  as  fluid  and  evolutional.  "  In  every  creature," 
writes  Hedwig  Lachmann,  the  critic  of  Wilde, 
"  lurks  the  readiness  for  desperate  deeds.  But  when 
all  is  over,  man  remains  unchanged.  His  nature 
does  not  change,  because  for  a  moment  he  has  been 
torn  from  his  moorings.  After  the  stormy  waters 
which  forced  Its  overflow  have  run  their  course,  the 
river  once  more  glides  back  into  Its  bed."  Like 
Maeterlinck's  Joyzelle,  Beatrice  is  forgiven,  not  be- 


2S8         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

cause  "  Who  sins  for  love  sins  not,'*  but  because  she 
has  loved  much.  In  Wilde's  own  startling  words  — 
in  The  Soul  of  Man  under  Socialism^  written  some 
eight  years  later  — :  *'  A  can  cannot  always  be  esti- 
mated by  what  he  does.  He  may  keep  the  law  and 
yet  be  worthless.  He  may  break  the  law  and  yet 
be  fine.  He  may  be  bad  without  ever  doing  any- 
thing bad.  He  may  commit  a  sin  against  society, 
and  yet  realize  through  that  sin  his  true  per- 
fection." Maeterlinck  maintains  that  justice  is  a 
very  mysterious  thing,  residing  not  in  nature  or  in 
anything  external,  but,  like  truth,  in  ourselves.  It  is 
in  this  play,  as  Mr  William  Archer  has  said,  that 
Wilde  reveals  himself  a  poet  of  very  high  rank. 
Nothing  is  easier,  and  therefore  possibly  more  mis- 
leading, than  to  say  that  The  Duchess  of  Padua  is 
not  du  theatre;  for  the  tests  of  its  suitability  for  the 
stage  have  been  inconclusive.  To  Wilde's  intense 
disappointment,  it  was  refused  by  Mary  Anderson; 
but  it  was  afterwards  produced  in  the  United  States 
by  Lawrence  Barrett  with  moderate  success.  Al- 
though announced  as  in  preparation  in  the  Publish- 
ers' List  for  1894,  The  Duchess  of  Padua  was 
actually  not  published  until  ten  years  later  —  in  the 
fine  translation  of  Dr.  Max  Meyerfeld  of  Berlin. 
An  unauthorized  prose  re-translation  from  Meyer- 
feld's  German  version  was  first  published  in  English. 
The  original  manuscript  of  the  play,  stolen  from 
Wilde's  house  in  1895,  has  never  come  to  light;  the 


OSCAR  WILDE  289 

best  version,  based  on  a  prompt  copy  used  by  Wilde 
and  containing  his  own  corrections,  is  found  in  the 
authorized  edition  of  his  works,  edited  by  Robert 
Ross.  In  addition  to  its  production  in  America  with 
Lawrence  Barrett  and  Mina  Gale  in  the  leading 
roles,  there  have  been  at  least  two  productions  on 
the  continent.  At  Hamburg,  Germany,  in  Decem- 
ber, 1904,  where  it  was  produced  under  the  most  ad- 
verse circumstances,  the  play  proved  a  failure,  being 
withdrawn  after  three  nights.  And  when  it  was 
produced  in  Berlin  early  in  1906  it  was  killed  by 
the  critics,  resulting  in  a  heavy  loss  for  its  champion. 
Dr.  Meyerfeld.  The  play  is  "  theatrical  "  in  the 
proper  sense,  and,  despite  its  reverses,  might,  I 
think,  afford  a  suitable  medium  for  the  talent  of  a 
Julia  Marlowe  or  an  Ellen  Terry  under  favoring 
conditions.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Wilde 
at  the  end  of  his  life  acknowledged,  according  to  Mr. 
Robert  Ross,  that  The  Duchess  of  Padua  artistically 
was  of  minor  importance. 

It  was  Wilde's  pleasure,  during  his  frequent 
visits  to  Paris,  to  delight  the  French  world  of  art 
and  letters  with  brilliant  causeries.  The  masterly 
ease  and  exquisite  purity  of  his  French  were  a  mar- 
vel to  all  who  heard  him.  And  Wilde  once  ex- 
plained (Pall  Mall  Gazette,  June  29,  1892)  the 
idea  he  had  in  mind  in  writing  the  play  of  Salome 
in  French : — "  I  have  one  instrument  that  I  know 
I  can  command,  and  that  is  the  English  language. 


290         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

There  was  another  instrument  to  which  I  had  lis- 
tened all  my  life,  and  I  wanted  once  to  touch  this 
new  instrument  to  see  whether  I  could  make  any 
beautiful  thing  out  of  it.  .  .  .  Of  course,  there 
are  modes  of  expression  that  a  Frenchman  of  letters 
would  not  have  used,  but  they  give  a  certain  relief 
or  color  to  the  play.  A  great  deal  of  the  curious 
effect  that  Maeterlinck  produces  comes  from  the 
fact  that  he,  a  Flamand  by  grace,  writes  in  an  alien 
language.  The  same  thing  is  true  of  Rossetti,  who, 
though  he  wrote  in  English,  was  essentially  Latin 
in  temperament."  In  this  connection,  "  Leonard 
Cresswell  Ingleby "  pertinently  quotes  Max  Beer- 
bohm's  remark  that  Walter  Pater  wrote  English  as 
though  it  were  a  dead  language.  Although  Wilde^s 
Salome  was  revised  by  Marcel  Schwob,  it  still  bore 
after  the  revision,  slight  as  it  must  have  been,  the 
trail  of  the  foreigner.  The  English  version,  by 
Lord  Alfred  Douglas,  is  a  marvellously  sympathetic 
and  poetic  rendition. 

In  writing  his  Salome,  Wilde  was  strongly  in- 
fluenced by  Herodias,  one  of  Gustave  Flaubert's 
Trots  Contes,  though  in  Flaubert's  tale  it  is  at 
the  instigation  of  Herodias  that  Salome  dances  for 
the  head  of  the  prophet.  Gomez  Carrlllo,  the  Span- 
ish translator  of  Salome,  records  that  Wilde  said 
to  him  at  the  time  he  was  writing  the  play:  **  If 
for  no  other  reason,  I  have  always  longed  to  go  to 
Spain  that  I  might  see  in  the  Prado  Titian's  Salome, 


OSCAR  WILDE  291 

of  which  Tintoretto  once  exclaimed :  *  Here  at  last 
is  a  man  who  paints  the  very  quivering  flesh!'" 
And  Carrlllo  mentions  that  only  Gustave  Moreau's 
picture,  immortalized  by  Huysmans,  unveiled  for 
Wilde  the  "  soul  of  the  dancing  princess  of  his 
dreams."  Whilst  Wilde  has  twisted  the  Biblical 
story  to  his  individual  ends,  his  interpretation  is 
said  to  follow  a  fairly  widespread  tradition  —  as 
hinted  at,  for  instance,  in  Kenan's  Life  of  Jesus, 
In  both  Sudermann's  Johannes  and  Massenet's  opera 
of  Herodiade,  Salome  is  the  object  of  Herod's  in- 
fatuation. Wilde  has  given  the  Biblical  story  an 
interpretation  fundamentally  dramatic  in  its  abnor- 
mality. As  a  reconstltutlon  of  classic  antiquity, 
Salome  belongs  erotlcally  to  the  school  of  Pierre 
Louys'  Aphrodite  and  Anatole  France's  Thais,  Like 
Poe,  like  Baudelaire,  like  Maeterlinck,  Wilde  has 
revealed  with  masterful  If  meretricious  artistry, 
the  beautiful  In  the  horrible. 

Salome  is  a  fevered  dream,  a  poignant  picture  — 
it  is  like  one  of  those  excursions  into  the  macabre 
with  which  Wilde  succeeded  in  fascinating  the  Pa- 
risians. In  It  one  discerns  the  revolting  decadence 
of  an  age  when  vice  was  no  prejudice  and  sensuality 
no  shame;  we  hear  the  resonance  of  lawless  pas- 
sion, and  the  reverberations  of  obscure,  half-divined 
emotions.  The  characters  stand  forth  In  chiselled 
completeness  from  the  rich  Galilean  background  like 
the  embossed  figures  upon  a  Grecian  urn.     The  in- 


292  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


q 


satiable,  sensual  Herodias,  symbolic  figure  of  the 
malady  of  that  age;  and  Herod,  the  Tetrarch, 
obsessed  with  profoundly  disquieting  Inclinations  to 
unlawful  passion,  ultimately  cutting  at  a  single  blow 
the  Gordlan  knot  of  his  problem,  for  the  untying 
of  which  he  lacks  both  courage  and  conscience. 
Like  HebbeFs  Daniel,  Jokanaan  is  a  wonderfully 
realized  figure  —  the  incarnation  of  a  primitive,  in- 
tolerant prophet,  the  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness 
—  commanding  rapt  attention  far  less  by  what  he 
says  than  by  what  he  is.  There  is  Salome  — "  she 
Is  like  a  dove  that  has  strayed  ...  she  is  like  a 
narcissus  trembling  in  the  wind  .  .  .  she  is  like  a 
silver  flower.  .  .  .  Her  little  white  hands  are  flut- 
tering like  white  butterflies."  She  is  unmoved  at 
first  by  any  strangely  perverse,  nameless  passion  for 
the  forbidden.  But  as  In  a  dream,  a  memory  o 
forgotten,  yet  half-divined  reality,  erotic  passion 
wakens  under  the  spell  of  Jokanaan's  presence;  and 
his  scorn,  his  anathemas,  his  objurgations  rouse  to 
life  and  to  revolt  within  her  the  dormant  instincts 
of  an  Herodias.  She  will  sing  the  swan  song  of 
her  soul  In  the  paean  of  the  dance,  and  for  the  sake 
of  revenge  so  ensnare  the  plastic  Herod  in  the 
meshes  of  her  perilous  and  dissolving  beauty  that 
he  can  refuse  her  nothing  —  even  though  It  were 
the  half  of  his  kingdom.  The  world  swims  In  a 
scarlet  haze  before  her  eyes;  and  though  lust,  scorn, 
revenge,  and  death  meet  in  that  terrible  kiss  of  a 


OSCAR  WILDE  293 

woman  scorned,  the  hour  of  her  own  fate  has  struck. 
Impressive,  awful,  Imperial,  Herod  speaks  the  la- 
conic words :  **  Kill  that  woman !  "  Salome,  daugh- 
ter of  Herodias,  Princess  of  Judea,  is  crushed  be- 
neath the  shields  of  the  soldiers,  and  her  death 
sounds  the  death  knell  of  a  decadent  and  degenerate 
age.     A  new  epoch  of  culture  Is  at  hand. 

In  Salome,  Wilde  depicts  a  crystallized  embodi- 
ment of  the  age,  rather  than  the  age  itself.  To  the 
naturalism  of  sensation  Is  super-added  stylistic  sym- 
metry and.  In  places,  what  Baudelaire  termed  su- 
preme literary  grace.  The  Influence  of  Maeter- 
linck is  inescapable  in  the  simplicity  of  the  dia- 
logue In  places,  the  iterations  and  reverberations  of 
the  leading  motives,  the  evocation  of  the  atmosphere 
and  Imminence  of  doom.  Nature  symbolically  co- 
operates In  Intensifying  the  feeling  of  dread;  and 
we  dimly  entertain  the  presentiment  of  vast  and 
fateful  figures  lurking  In  the  wings.  In  such  pas- 
sages as  the  long  protests  of  Herod,  there  Is  all  the 
decorative  opulence  of  Flaubert;  and  in  the  mouth 
of  Salome  the  poetic  phrasing  holds  at  times  a  moon- 
lit radiance.  With  all  its  verbal  jewellery,  the  dia- 
logue Is  at  times  momentously  laconic;  as  In  the 
words  of  Salome  In  explanation  of  Herod's  passion: 
"  Why  does  the  Tetrarch  look  at  me  all  the  while 
with  his  mole's  eyes  under  his  shaking  eyelids?  It 
Is  strange  that  the  husband  of  my  mother  looks  at 
me  like  that.     I  know  not  what  It  means.     Of  a 


294  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

truth  I  know  it  too  well."  Wilde  declared  that 
Salome  was  a  piece  of  music  —  with  its  progressive 
crescendo,  emotional  pasan  and  tragic  finale.  And 
Richard  Strauss  justified  Wilde's  dictum  in  his  opera 
Salome  of  far-flung  notoriety,  asymmetric  in  its 
form,  barbaric  in  its  passion,  most  arresting  at  the 
emotional  climax  of  Salome's  erotomania.  It  is 
significant  that  this,  the  one  play  of  Wilde's  not 
primarily  written  for  the  stage,  is  a  true  drama  in 
the  most  real  sense,  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  con- 
viction of  the  real  artist.  No  credence  need  be 
given  the  statement  of  Gomez  Carrillo,  in  his  El 
Origen  de  la  Salome  de  Wilde,  that  this  play  was 
written  for  Sarah  Bernhardt.  The  play  was  written 
in  Paris  at  the  turn  of  the  year  1891-2;  and  Wilde 
himself  said  to  an  interviewer  (June,  1892),  a  state- 
ment supported  by  Mr.  St.  John  Hankin:  **  A  few 
weeks  ago  I  met  Madame  Sarah  Bernhardt  at  Sir 
Henry  Irvlng's.  She  had  heard  of  my  play,  and 
asked  me  to  read  it  to  her.  I  did  so,  and  she  at 
once  expressed  a  wish  to  play  the  title-role."  It  Is 
lamentable  that  Salome  focusses  attention  upon  ab- 
normal and  lascivious  states  of  feeling,  indicative  of 
Wilde's  own  degeneracy.  When  I  last  heard  Strauss' 
opera  at  the  Royal  Opera  House  in  Berlin,  this  Im- 
pression was  deepened  and  Intensified  by  the  "  argu- 
ment of  the  flesh,"  and  the  potent  Instrumentality  of 
the  temperamentally  Intense  music.     And  yet,  withal, 


OSCAR  WILDE  295 

Salome  is  Wilde's  one  dramatic  achievement  of  real 
genius,  an  Individual  and  unique  literary  creation. 

Since  Wilde's  death,  The  Duchess  of  Padua  has 
been  printed  in  both  German  and  English  versions; 
of  the  unpublished  plays,  only  A  Florentine  Tragedy, 
a  fragment,  was  saved  by  Wilde's  executor,  Mr. 
Robert  Ross,  from  the  house  at  16  TIte  Street, 
Chelsea.  The  manuscript  of  The  Woman  Covered 
with  Jewels  Is  so  fragmentary  as  to  be  negligible. 
Mr.  Wlllard,  the  romantic  actor,  likewise  possessed 
a  copy  of  A  Florentine  Tragedy,  agreeing  In  every 
particular  with  the  one  recovered  by  Mr.  Ross;  In 
each  the  opening  scene  was  gone,  showing  that  Wilde 
had  never  written  it.  "  It  was  characteristic  of  the 
author,"  says  Mr.  Ross,  "  to  have  finished  what  he 
never  began."  It  has  since  been  published  (Luce, 
Boston)  with  an  Introductory  note  by  Mr.  Ross;  he 
also  narrated  the  history  of  the  play's  recovery  In 
the  Tribune  (London)  in  June,  1906.  The  opening 
act  has  been  supplied  by  Mr.  T.  Sturge  Moore,  well 
known  as  the  poet  of  The  Vinedresser  and  Other 
Poems,  Absalom,  The  Centaur^s  Booty,  etc.,  and 
the  critic  of  Diirer  and  Correggio.  This  bit  of  re- 
construction in  A  Forentine  Tragedy  Is  remarkable, 
alike  for  catching  Wilde's  tone  and  for  its  individual 
charm.  Though  the  play  was  originally  written  for 
Mr.  George  Alexander  and  afterwards  submitted  to 
Mr.  Wlllard,  It  did  not  see  the  footlights  In  England 


296  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

until  June  i8,  1906,  when  it  was  produced  together 
with  Salome  by  the  Literary  Theatre  Club,  at  the 
King's  Hall,  Covent  Garden.  In  Dr.  Max  Meyer- 
feld's  translation,  the  play  has  been  produced  with 
moderate  success  in  Germany  (Leipzig,  Hamburg 
and  Berlin). 

A  Florentine  Tragedy  is  a  much  slighter  per- 
formance than  Salome;  and  acting  both  deep  and 
subtle  Is  required  to  vitalize  the  characters  into  real 
human  semblance.  It  Is  the  triangular  affair  —  with 
a  difference;  and  the  denouement  Is  a  startling  climax. 
In  the  absence  of  the  merchant  SImone,  his  fair 
young  wife  Blanca  is  visited  by  the  Florentine 
Prince,  Guldo  BardI,  and  courted  in  Young  Lochln- 
var  fashion : 

O,  make  no  question,  come! 

They  waste  their  time  who  ponder  o'er  bad  dreams. 

We  will  away  to  hills,  red  roses  clothe, 

And  though  the  persons  who  did  haunt  that  dream 

Live  on,  they  shall  by  distance  dwindled,  seem 

No  bigger  than  the  smallest  ear  of  corn, 

That  cowers  at  the  passing  of  a  bird ; 

And  silent  shall  they  seem,  out  of  earshot 

Those  voices  that  could  jar,  while  we  gaze  back 

From  rosy  caves  upon  the  hill-brow  open, 

And  ask  ourselves  if  what  we  see  is  not 

A  picture  merely  —  if  dusty,  dingy  lives 

Continue  there  to  choke  themselves  with  malice. 

Wilt  thou  not  come,  Bianca?    Wilt  thou  not? 


OSCAR  WILDE  297 

Simone  entering,  interrupts  the  ardent  courtship; 
and  with  Southern  subtlety  feigns  the  utmost  regard 
for  his  guest.  They  chat,  with  an  undercurrent  of 
meaning  in  their  words,  while  the  old  merchant  dis- 
plays his  gorgeous  wares.  Interest  quickens  in  the 
discovery  that  Simone  is  "  playing "  the  egoistic 
Guido,  cunningly  drawing  him  by  almost  impercepti- 
ble gradations  into  a  trial  of  skill  —  or  shall  it  be  a 
duel?  Bianca  holds  aloft  a  torch  to  the  struggle 
until  Simone  disarms  Guido.  As  they  close  with 
each  other,  daggers  drawn,  Bianca  dashes  her  torch 
to  the  floor, —  only  In  the  end  to  hear  Guido  die  the 
death  of  a  poltroon.  With  an  exclamation  "  Now 
for  the  other  I  "  Simone  rises  from  his  bloody  work 
and  gazes  at  his  trembling  wife.  The  splendid  man- 
hood of  her  husband  has  dazzled  her;  and  in  wonder 
and  subjugation  she  goes  towards  him  with  arms  out- 
stretched, murmuring  the  words,  "  Why  did  you  not 
tell  me  you  were  so  strong?  "  Her  tremendous  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  is  matched  by  one  no  less  instan- 
taneous or  momentous  than  her  own.  And  with  the 
words,  "  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  were  so  beau- 
tiful? '*,  Simone  takes  Bianca  in  his  arms  and  kisses 
her  on  the  mouth.  Strange  lovers,  stranger  recon- 
ciliation ! 

IV 

A  new,  a  strikingly  different  Wilde,  next  makes  his 
dehut  in  the  society  comedy.     Wilde's  earlier  plays 


298  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

brought  him  nothing,  scarcely  even  notoriety;  for 
the  British  public  could  not  be  persuaded  to  believe 
that  any  work  of  poetic  beauty  or  dramatic  art  could 
emanate  from  a  licensed  jester,  angler  before  all  for 
the  public  stare.  Wilde  had  incontestibly  estab- 
lished his  reputation  as  a  buffoon ;  and  once  a  buffoon, 
always  a  buffoon!  One  may  truly  say  of  Wilde,  as 
Brandes  once  said  of  Ibsen,  that  at  this  period  of 
his  life  he  had  a  lyrical  Pegasus  killed  under  him. 
Like  Bernard  Shaw,  Wilde  was  forced  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  brain  had  ceased  to  be  a  vital  organ 
in  English  life.  As  he  expressed  it,  the  public  used 
the  classics  as  a  means  of  checking  the  progress  of 
Art,  as  bludgeons  for  preventing  the  free  expression 
of  Beauty  in  new  forms.  It  was  his  aim  to  extend 
the  subject-matter  of  art;  and  this  was  distasteful 
to  the  public  since  it  was  the  expression  of  an  indi- 
vidualism defiant  of  public  opinion.  And  to  Wilde, 
public  opinion  represented  the  will  of  the  ignorant 
majority  as  opposed  to  that  of  the  discerning  few. 
Far  from  holding  that  the  public  is  the  patron  of  the 
artist,  Wilde  vigorously  maintained  that  the  artist  is 
always  the  munificent  patron  of  the  public.  The 
very  bane  of  his  existence  was  the  popular,  yet  pro- 
foundly erroneous,  maxim  that  "  the  drama's  laws 
the  drama's  patrons  give."  The  work  of  art,  he 
rightly  avers,  is  to  dominate  the  spectator :  the  spec- 
tator is  not  to  dominate  the  work  of  art.  The  drama 
must  come  Into  being,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  theatre. 


OSCAR  WILDE  299 

but  through  the  Inner,  vital  necessity  of  the  artist  for 
self-expression.  He  scorned  the  field  of  popular 
novelism,  not  only  because  it  was  too  ridiculously 
easy,  but  also  because  to  meet  the  requirements  of 
the  sentimental  public  with  its  half-baked  conceptions 
of  art,  the  artist  would  have  to  "  do  violence  to  his 
temperament,  would  have  to  write,  not  for  the  ar- 
tistic joy  of  writing,  but  for  the  amusement  of  half- 
educated  people,  and  so  would  have  to  suppress  his 
individualism,  forget  his  culture,  annihilate  his  style, 
and  surrender  everything  that  is  valuable  to  him." 
In  his  search  for  lucrative  employment  for  his  in- 
dividual talents,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  comic  stage. 
It  dawned  upon  him  that  Tom  Robertson,  H.  G. 
Byron  and  W.  S.  Gilbert  —  to  say  nothing  of  Sheri- 
dan —  were  still  living  factors  in  the  English  drama, 
and  that  the  style  of  Dumas  fils,  in  the  Scribishly 
"  well-made  "  pattern,  met  the  most  important  re- 
quirements of  popular  taste.  While  little  scope  was 
allowed  the  creator  of  the  higher  forms  of  dra- 
matic art,  in  the  field  of  burlesque  and  light,  even 
farcical  comedy,  the  artist  was  allowed  very  great 
freedom  in  England.  It  was  under  the  pressure  of 
such  convictions  that  Wilde  now  sought  a  hazard  of 
new  fortunes. 

The  four  society  comedies  which  Wilde  wrote  in 
rapid  succession,  which  immediately  gained  huge 
success  in  England,  and  have  since  been  played  to 
vastly   appreciative   audiences   in   Europe   and   the 


300  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

United  States,  are  so  similar  in  style,  treatment  and 
appeal  as  almost  to  warrant  discussion  as  a  unique 
genre.  Only  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest 
really  differentiates  itself,  generically,  from  its  pre- 
decessors. 

Lady  Windermere's  Fan,  perhaps  the  most  cele- 
brated of  Wilde's  comedies,  is  concerned  with 
the  hackneyed  theme  of  the  eternal  triangle  —  the 
theme  of  Odette,  Le  Supplice  d*une  Femme,  and 
countless  other  comedies  of  the  French  school. 
Only  by  means  of  the  flashing  dialogue  is  Wilde 
enabled  to  conceal  the  essential  conventionality 
and  threadbare  melodrama  of  the  plot.  The 
characters  are  lacking  in  the  ultimate  stamp  of  re- 
ality, functioning  primarily  as  social  types  in  a  situa- 
tion, only  secondarily  as  individuals  working  out 
their  own  salvation.  And  yet  somehow  he  has  man- 
aged to  give  them  the  "  tone  of  their  time,"  and  to 
endow  them  with  that  air  of  social  ease  in  a  draw- 
ing-room which  is  the  essential  to  comedy  in  an  en- 
lightened society.  The  following  scene  in  which 
Mrs.  Erlynne  discovers  the  letter  of  farewell  from 
Lady  Windermere  to  her  husband,  is  significant 
and  dramatically  impressive;  but  it  seems  obviously 
suggested  by  the  incident  in  Ibsen's  Ghosts,  which 
inspired  the  title. 

Parker,  Her  Ladyship  has  just  gone  out  of  the 
house. 


OSCAR  WILDE  301 

Mrs.  Erlynne.  (Starts,  and  looks  at  the  servant 
with  a  puzzled  expression  on  her  face,)  Out  of  the 
house  ? 

Parker.  Yes,  madam  —  her  ladyship  told  me 
she  had  left  a  letter  for  his  lordship  on  the  table. 

'Mrs.  Erlynne.     A  letter  for  Lord  Windermere? 

Parker.     Yes,  madam. 

Mrs.  Erlynne.  Thank  you.  {Exit  Parker. 
The  music  in  the  ballroom  stops.)  Gone  out  of  her 
house  I  A  letter  addressed  to  her  husband !  ( Goes 
over  to  bureau  and  looks  at  letter.  Takes  it  up 
and  lays  it  down  again  with  a  shudder  of  fear. ) 
No,  no !  It  would  be  impossible !  Life  doesn't  re- 
peat its  tragedies  like  that  I  Oh,  why  does  this 
horrible  fancy  come  across  me  ?  Why  do  I  remem- 
ber now  the  moment  of  my  life  I  most  wish  to  for- 
get? Does  life  repeat  its  tragedies?  {Tears  open 
letter  and  reads  it,  then  sinks  down  into  a  chair 
with  a  gesture  of  anguish.)  Oh,  how  terrible! 
The  same  words  that  twenty  years  ago  I  wrote  to  her 
father!  and  how  bitterly  I  have  been  punished  for 
it!  No;  my  punishment,  my  real  punishment  is  to- 
night, is  now ! 

One  other  scene,  that  in  which  Mrs.  Erlynne 
finally  persuades  Lady  Windermere  to  return  to  her 
husband  and  child,  is  a  situation  of  very  nearly  real 
seriousness  on  the  stage ;  it  is  Wilde's  mistake  to  put 
into  the  mouth  of  Mrs.  Erlynne  only  the  words  the 


302  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

average  spectator  expects  her  to  say,  not  the  ex- 
pression of  the  sentiments  a  woman  who  had  passed 
through  her  devastating  experience  would  inevitably 
feel. 

In  A  Woman  of  No  Importance,  Wilde  pretends 
to  break  a  lance  in  behalf  of  even  justice  at  the 
hands  of  society  for  men  and  women  who  have 
committed  Indiscretions.  In  his  own  words,  this 
play  is  the  embodiment  of  his  conviction  that  there 
should  not  be  '*  one  law  for  men  and  another  law 
for  women."  He  was  too  much  preoccupied  with 
his  thesis  to  make  his  characters  real  human  beings; 
and  the  epigrammatic  brilliance  of  the  dialogue 
gives  a  sort  of  family  resemblance  to  many  of  the 
"  characters."  Playing  with  great  restraint,  sim- 
plicity and  finesse,  Marlon  Terry  as  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
won  the  sympathy  of  her  audience  at  a  recent  revival 
I  attended  at  His  Majesty's  Theatre,  London;  but 
Beerbohm  Tree  could  not  accomplish  the  miracle  of 
vitalizing  Lord  Illingworth.  Hester  Worsley 
argues  with  futility  against  a  jury  "  packed  "  against 
her  declamatory  prudery;  and  Gerald  is  a  brainless 
dolt.  Lady  Hunstanton  and  Lady  Caroline  Ponte- 
fract  are  delightful  and  naive,  comic  admixtures  of 
natural  shrewdness,  kindliness  of  heart,  and  surpass- 
ing British  Ignorance  and  Insularity.  The  opening 
scene  Is  something  new  in  drama,  the  forerunner  of 
Don  Juan  in  Hell  and  Getting  Married;  indeed, 
Wilde  declared  that  he  wrote  the  first  act  of  A 


OSCAR  WILDE  303 

Woman  of  No  Importance  in  answer  to  the  com- 
plaint of  the  critics  that  Lady  Windermere's  Fan 
was  lacking  in  action.  "  In  the  act  in  question," 
said  Wilde,  "  there  was  absolutely  no  action  at  all. 
It  was  a  perfect  act  I  "  Wilde  once  asked  Ouida 
what  she  herself  considered  the  chief  feature  in  her 
work  which  won  success.  **  I  am  the  only  living 
English  writer,"  she  replied,  "  who  knows  how  two 
Dukes  talk  when  they  are  by  themselves ! "  It 
might,  with  truth,  be  said  of  Wilde  that  he  was  the 
only  living  English  writer  who  knew  how  two 
Duchesses  talk  when  they  are  by  themselves. 

Jn  Ideal  Husband  is  somewhat  more  compact 
and  straightforward  than  either  of  the  two  previous 
comedies;  the  dialogue  is  more  immediately  ger- 
mane to  the  action;  the  epigram  is  less  frequently 
employed  for  the  sake  of  covering  deficiencies  of 
plot  or  tiding  over  lapses  in  interest.  Wilde  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  the  ultra-modern  and  the  senti- 
mental reactionary.  The  triteness  of  his  technique 
was  balanced  by  his  facility  in  contriving  "  scenes,'* 
"  situations,"  and  "  curtains."  The  modernity  of 
his  dialogue  is  matched  by  the  mawkish  convention- 
ality of  his  moral  fond.  The  long  soliloquy  at  the 
beginning  of  the  third  act  of  Lady  Windermere's 
Fan  appears  hopelessly  antiquated  as  a  theatrical 
device  to  a  generation  bred  on  Ibsen's  rigorous 
technique;  and  yet  Wilde  imitated- Ibsen  in  long 
9tage  directions,  descriptive  of  the  characters  of  his 


304         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

plays.  Bernard  Shaw  himself  could  not  have  im- 
proved upon  Wilde's  thumb-nail  sketch  of  Sir  Robert 
Chiltern : 

A  man  of  forty,  but  looking  somewhat  younger.  Clean- 
shaven, with  finely-cut  features,  dark-haired  and  dark-eyed. 
A  personality  of  mark.  Not  popular  —  few  personalities 
are.  But  intensely  admired  by  the  few,  and  deeply  respected 
by  the  many.  The  note  of  his  manner  is  that  of  perfect 
distinction,  with  a  slight  touch  of  pride.  One  feels  that  he 
1^  conscious  of  the  success  he  has  made  in  life.  A  nervous 
temperament,  with  a  tired  look.  The  finely-chiselled  mouth 
and  chin  contrast  strikingly  with  the  romantic  expression  in 
the  deepset  eyes.  The  variance  is  suggestive  of  an  almost 
complete  separation  of  passion  and  intellect,  as  though 
thought  and  emotion  were  each  isolated  in  its  own  sphere 
through  some  violence  of  will-power.  There  is  no  nervous- 
ness in  the  nostrils,  and  in  the  pale,  thin,  pointed  hands. 
It  would  be  inaccurate  to  call  him  picturesque.  Picturesque- 
ness  cannot  survive  the  House  of  Commons.  But  Vandyck 
would  have  liked  to  paint  his  head. 

The  real  difference  between  the  spirit  of  Wilde 
and  the  spirit  of  Ibsen  is  exhibited  in  the  denoue- 
ment of  An  Ideal  Husband  as  contrasted  with  that 
of  The  Pillars  of  Society.  Ibsen's  "  hero  ''  ulti- 
mately confesses  his  moral  delinquency  in  the  most 
public  way,  and  the  curtain  falls  upon  a  self-hu- 
miliated and  repentant  man  ready  to  "  begin  over 
again "  in  order  to  work  out  his  own  salvation. 
Aside  from  a  good  scare,  Sir  Robert  Chiltern  is  not 


OSCAR  WILDE  305 

only  allowed  to  go  scot-free,  but  is  actually  elevated 
to  a  vacant  seat  in  the  Cabinet!  Wilde  is  reported 
to  have  said:  '*  Nobody  else's  work  gives  me  any 
suggestion.  It  is  only  by  entire  isolation  from 
everything  that  one  can  do  any  work.  Idleness  gives 
one  the  mood,  Isolation  the  condition.  Concentra- 
tion on  one's  self  recalls  the  new  and  wonderful 
world  that  one  presents  In  the  color  and  cadence  of 
words  In  movement."  It  is  matter  for  regret  that 
not  Ibsen,  but  Sardou  and  Dumas  fits  usually  gave 
Wilde  his  suggestions.  For  with  all  his  faults,  he 
possessed  in  rich  measure  "  the  sense  of  the  thea- 
tre." His  plays  ran  so  smoothly  that  the  public  was 
convinced  that  it  was  an  easy  task  to  write  them. 
At  the  height  of  Wilde's  fame,  Bernard  Shaw  la- 
conically remarked :  "  I  am  the  only  person  in 
London  who  can't  sit  down  and  write  an  Oscar 
Wilde  play  at  will  I" 

It  was  Wilde's  characteristic  contention  that  there 
never  would  be  any  real  drama  in  England  until  It 
is  recognized  that  a  play  Is  as  personal  and  Indi- 
vidual a  form  of  self-expression  as  a  poem  or  a  pic- 
ture. Here  Wilde  laid  his  finger  upon  his  own  fun- 
damental error.  By  nature  and  by  necessity,  the 
drama  Is,  of  all  the  arts,  the  most  Impersonal:  Vic- 
tor Hugo  said  that  dramatic  art  consists  In  being 
somebody  else.  So  supreme  an  Individual  was  Wilde 
that  he  lacked  the  dramatic  faculty  of  Intellectual  self- 
detachment.     Conversationally  he  could  never  be 


3o6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

anybody  but  himself.  To  Bernard  Shaw,  Wilde  ap- 
peared as,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  only  thorough 
playwright  in  England  —  because  he  played  with 
everything:  with  wit,  philosophy,  drama,  actor  and 
audience,  the  whole  theatre.  The  critics  thought 
that  An  Ideal  Husband  was  a  play  about  a  bracelet; 
but  Wilde  maintained  —  and  not  without  show  of 
reason  —  that  they  missed  its  entire  psychology: 
"  The  difference  in  the  way  in  which  a  man  loves  a 
woman  from  that  in  which  a  woman  loves  a  man; 
the  passion  that  women  have  for  making  ideals 
(which  is  their  weakness),  and  the  weakness  of  a 
man  who  dares  not  show  his  imperfections  to  the 
thing  he  loves."  They  did  not  miss  Wilde's  be- 
setting sin,  however:  manufacturing  the  great  ma- 
jority of  his  characters,  as  talkers,  in  the  image  and 
superscription  of  Wilde.  It  is  little  short  of  ^s-ljl 
tounding  that  Wilde's  comedies  are  resplendent  by 
reason  of  qualities  which  have  no  intrinsic  or  organic  « 
relation  to  dramatic  art.  ^H 

The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest  is  Wilde's 
nearest  approach  to  the  creation  of  an  unique  genre. 
It  is  characteristic  of  Wilde  that  his  most  important 
comedy  was  cast  in  the  most  frivolous  form.  Per- 
haps additional  testimony  to  its  value  and  essential 
novelty  is  found  in  the  fact  that  German  critics, 
deceived  by  its  extravagant  plot,  branded  it  as  of 
no  value!  Its  point  of  departure  is  the  titular  pun; 
but  its  real  purpose  could  not  have  been  better  ex- 


OSCAR  WILDE  307 

pressed  than  In  the  sub-title:  "  A  Trivial  Comedy 
for  Serious  People."  Though  Wilde,  rather  sug- 
gestively, chose  to  designate  it  on  one  occasion  as  a 
"  rose-coloured  comedy,"  the  truth  is  that  It  is  an 
epigrammatic  extravaganza,  cast  in  the  form  of 
farce.  Meredith's  "  oblique  ray  "  floods  It  through- 
out, and  the  action  proceeds  to  the  humanely  malign 
accompaniment  of  "  volleys  of  silvery  laughter." 
Based  on  the  absurd  complications  arising  from  the 
endless  employment  of  aliases  and  written  In  the 
light,  French  style,  this  play  Is  actually  social  satire 
on  the  fantastic  plane.  I  recall  the  strong  sense  of 
the  genuinely  comic  with  which  I  was  affected  on  once 
seeing  in  London  Sir  George  Alexander  as  Worth- 
ing, in  that  devastating  entry  in  deep  mourning  for 
the  loss  of  the  brother  he  had  glibly  invented  — 
only  to  happen  upon  his  friend  who  is  at  that  moment 
personating  the  fictitious  brother  I  Like  Shaw's  You 
Never  Can  Tell,  it  is  psychological  farce;  and  the 
characters,  to  borrow  a  phrase  of  Mr.  Huneker's, 
indulge  in  "  psychical  antics."  Its  congeners  arc 
St.  John  Hankin's  The  Charity  that  Begins  at 
Home,  Shaw's  The  Philanderer,  and  Barrie's  The 
Admirable  Crichton.  Mr.  St.  John  Hankin  has 
pertinently  remarked  that  the  type  of  play  Wilde 
struck  out  in  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest  was 
the  only  quite  original  thing  he  contributed  to  the 
English  stage  —  in  which  view  he  has  been  sup- 
ported by  the  clever  German,  Alfred  Kerr.     Among 


308  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

German  critics,  Hermann  Bahr  is  noteworthy  in  re-' 
fusing  to  consider  Wilde  as  fundamentally  frivolous, 
maintaining  that  his  paradoxes  rest  upon  a  profound 
insight  into  humanity.  "  Wilde  says  serious  and 
often  sad  things  that  convulse  us  with  merriment,  not 
because  he  is  not  *  deep,'  but  precisely  because  he  is 
deeper  than  seriousness  and  sadness,  and  has  recog- 
nized their  nullity."  Wilde  always  affirmed  that  he 
respected  life  too  deeply  ever  to  discuss  it  seriously. 
Illuminating  —  almost  prophetic !  —  is  Shaw's  char- 
acterization of  Wilde,  evoked  by  this  play  on  its 
original  production: 

**  Ireland  is,  of  all  countries,  the  most  foreign  to 
England,  and  to  the  Irishman  (and  Mr.  Wilde  is 
almost  as  acutely  Irish  as  the  Iron  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington) there  is  nothing  in  the  world  quite  so  ex- 
quisitely comic  as  an  Englishman's  seriousness.  Itfl|| 
becomes  tragic,  perhaps,  when  the  Englishman  acts 
on  it;  but  that  occurs  too  seldom  to  be  taken  into 
account,  a  fact  which  intensifies  the  humour  of  the 
situation,  the  total  result  being  the  Englishman  ut- 
terly unconscious  of  his  real  self,  Mr.  Wilde  keenly 
observant  of  it,  and  playing  on  the  self-unconscious- 
ness with  irresistible  humour,  and  finally,  of  course, 
the  Englishman  annoyed  with  himself  for  being 
amused  at  his  own  expense,  and  for  being  unable  to 
convict  Mr.  Wilde  of  what  seems  an  obvious  mis- 
understanding of  human  nature.  He  is  shocked, 
too,  at  the  danger  to  the  foundations  of  society  when 


OSCAR  WILDE  309 

seriousness  is  publicly  laughed  at.  And  to  com- 
plete the  oddity  of  the  situation,  Mr.  Wilde,  touch- 
ing what  he  himself  reverences.  Is  absolutely  the 
most  sentimental  dramatist  of  the  day." 


The  comedies  of  Oscar  Wilde  stem  not  from  the 
Ibsen  of  Lovers  Comedy,  but  from  the  Dumas  fils 
of  Francillon,  the  Sardou  of  Divorgons,  and  the 
Sheridan  of  The  School  for  Scandal,  Nor  are 
they  lacking  In  that  ^rain  de  folie  which  was  the  sign 
manual  of  Mellhac  and  Halevy,  of  Gilbert  and  Sul- 
livan. In  verve,  esprit  and  brilliance  Wilde  is  close 
akin  to  his  compatriot  and  fellow  townsman,  Ber- 
nard Shaw;  In  both  we  find  a  defiant  Individualism, 
a  genius  for  epigrammatic  formulation  of  the  truth, 
and  a  vein  of  piquant  and  social  satire.  Inferior  to 
Shaw  in  most  respects,  Wilde  surpasses  him  in  two 
features:  the  sensitiveness  of  his  taste,  and  the  re- 
markable social  ease  of  his  dialogue.  As  an  artist 
Wilde  was  generously  endowed  with  the  discretion 
which  Henry  James  aptly  terms  the  "  conscience  of 
taste";  and,  unlike  Shaw,  he  was  far  more  intent 
upon  amusement  than  upon  Instruction.  To  at- 
tempt analysis  of  Wilde's  comedies  were  as  profitless 
as  to  inquire  into  the  composition  of  a  souffiee  or  the 
ingredients  of  a  Roman  Candle.  It  is  enough  that 
he  translates  us  into  le  monde  ou  Von  ne  s'ennuie 
pas.     Why  carp  because  Wilde's  theatric  devices  are 


3IO         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

as  superficial  as  those  of  Scribe,  his  sentimentality 
as  mawkish  as  that  of  Sydney  Grundy,  and  his  mor- 
alizing as  ghastly  a  misfit  as  the  Mea  Culpa  of 
Dowson  or  the  confessional  of  a  Verlaine  I 

The  phenomenal  popularity  of  Wilde's  comedies 
in  an  epoch  of  culture  associated  with  naturalism  inM 
art  is  significant  testimony  to  his  rare  quality  as  a  ''" 
purveyor  of  intellectual  pleasure.  In  the  category 
of  the  great  drama  of  the  day  considered  as  drama 
—  Ibsen,  Hauptmann,  Sudermann,  Hervieu,  Strind- 
berg  —  they  have  no  place,  in  that  in  no  ultimate 
sense  are  they  conditioned  by  the  fundamental  laws 
of  the  drama.  They  are  deficient  in  final  portraiture 
of  character,  the  play  and  interplay  of  really  vital 
emotions,  and  the  indispensable  conflict  of  wills  and 
passions  withoiit  which  drama  is  mere  sound  and 
fury  signifying  nothing.  Bernard  Shaw  pronounced 
Wilde  the  arch-artist:  he  was  so  colossally  lazy. 
An  aesthetic  and  luxurious  idler,  Wilde  was  incapable 
of  sustained  and  laborious  pre-occupation  with  his 
art  work.  It  has  been  told  of  Wilde  that  he  filled 
notebooks  with  the  casual  inspirations  of  his  own 
conversation  and  made  his  plays  out  of  these  note- 
books. It  was  true,  though  sounding  like  the  vain- 
est of  poses,  that  even  when  his  life  was  most  free 
from  business  cares  he  never  had,  as  he  put  it,  either 
the  time  or  the  leisure  for  his  art.  In  the  deepest 
sense,  he  lacked  what  Walter  Pater  called  the  re- 
sponsibility of  the  artist  to  his  material;  although 


OSCAR  WILDE  311 

this  Is  not  to  say  that  he  failed  to  recognize,  from  the 
standpoint  of  style,  the  beauty  of  the  material  he  em- 
ployed, and  to  use  that  beauty  as  a  factor  in  pro- 
ducing the  aesthetic  effect.  Like  Thomas  Griffiths 
Wainewrlght,  he  sought  to  put  Into  practice  the 
theory  that  "  life  Itself  Is  an  art,  and  has  Its  modes 
of  style  no  less  than  the  arts  that  seek  to  express  It." 
And  the  great  drama  of  his  life,  as  he  confessed  to 
Andre  Gide,  was  that  he  had  given  his  genius  to  his 
life,  to  his  work  only  his  talent. 

There  Is  no  term  which  so  perfectly  expresses  the 
tone  of  Wilde's  comedies  as  nonchalance.  The  as- 
tounding thing  Is  that.  In  his  smcere  effort  to  amuse 
the  public,  he  best  succeeded  with  the  public  by  hold- 
ing it  up  to  scorn  and  ridicule  with  the  lightest 
satire.  "  If  we  are  to  deliver  a  philosophy,"  says 
Mr.  Chesterton,  in  speaking  of  contemporary  life, 
"  It  must  be  In  the  manner  of  the  late  Mr.  Whistler 
and  the  ridentem  dicere  verum.  If  our  heart  Is  to 
be  aimed  at,  It  must  be  with  the  rapier  of  Steven- 
son, which  runs  through  without  either  pain  or 
puncture."  If  our  brain  Is  to  be  aroused,  he  might 
have  added.  It  must  be  with  the  paradox  and  epigram 
of  Oscar  Wilde.  Horace  Walpole  once  said  that 
the  world  is  a  comedy  for  the  man  of  thought,  a 
tragedy  for  the  man  of  feeling.  He  forgot  to  say 
that  It  Is  a  farce  for  the  man  of  wit.  It  was  Wilde's 
creed  that  Ironic  imitation  of  the  contrasts,  absurdi- 
ties, and  inconsistencies  of  life,  its  fads  and  fancies,  Its 


EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

quips  and  cranks,  its  follies  and  foibles,  give  far  more 
pleasure  and  amusement  than  faithful  portraiture  of 
the  dignity  of  life,  its  seriousness  and  profundity, 
its  tragedy,  pity,  and  terror.  His  comedies  are 
marked,  not  by  consistency  in  the  characters,  con- 
tinuity of  purpose,  or  unity  of  action,  but  only  by  per-, 
sistence  of  the  satiric  vein  and  prevalence  of  the 
comic  mood.  Like  Flaubert,  Wilde  gloried  in  de- 
moralizing the  public,  and  he  denied  with  his  every 
breath  Sidney  Lanier's  dictum  that  art  has  no  enemy 
so  unrelenting  as  cleverness.  His  whole  literary 
career  was  one  long,  defiant  challenge  to  Zola's 
pronunciamento :  Vhomme  de  genie  n^a  jamais  ^^ 
d*  esprit.  ■■ 

While  the  dialogue  of  Wilde's  comedies,  as  the 
brilliant  Hermann  Bahr  has  said,  contains  more 
verve  and  esprit  than  all  the  French,  German,  and 
Italian  comedies  of  to-day  put  together,  neverthe- 
less our  taste  Is  outraged  because  Wilde  lacks  a  de- 
veloped sense  for  character,  and  employs  a  conven- 
tional and  time-worn  technique.  Wilde's  figures 
are  lacking  in  vitality  and  humanity;  it  is  impossible 
to  believe  in  their  existence.  Put  Wilde's  cleverest 
sayings  into  the  mouths  of  characters  other  than 
those  that  utter  them  —  and  the  play  remains 
essentially  unaltered.  The  characters  are  mere 
mouthpieces  for  the  diverting  ratiocinations  of  their 
author,  often  appearing  less  as  personalities  than  as 
personified  customs,  embodied  prejudices  and  con- 


OSCAR  WILDE  313 

ventlons  of  English  social  life.  By  means  of  these 
pallid  figures,  Wilde  has  at  least  admirably  succeeded 
in  interpreting  certain  sides  of  the  English  national 
character.  The  form  of  his  comedies  approximates 
to  that  of  the  best  French  farces,  but  his  humor  has 
the  genuine  British  note.  There  Is  no  escaping  the 
Impression,  however,  that  his  characters  are  autom- 
atons and  puppets  —  masks  which  barely  suffice  to 
conceal  the  lineaments  of  Wilde.  Here  we  see  the 
raisonneuTy  the  commentator,  much  as  we  find  him  in 
Dumas  jils,  or  In  Sudermann.  It  is  in  this  way  that 
Wilde  Itentlfies  his  characters,  not  with  their  proto- 
types In  actual  life,  but  with  himself. 

As  Bernard  Shaw  may  be  said  to  have  Invented 
the  drama  of  dialectic,  so  Oscar  Wilde  may  be  said 
to  have  Invented  the  drama  of  conversation. 

In  1 89 1  Walter  Pater  wrote:  **  There  is  always 
something  of  an  excellent  talker  about  the  writings 
of  Mr.  Oscar  Wilde;  and  In  his  hands,  as  happens 
so  rarely  with  those  who  practise  It,  the  form  of 
dialogue  Is  justified  by  Its  being  really  alive.  His 
genial  laughter-loving  sense  of  life  and  Its  enjoyable 
Intercourse  goes  far  to  obviate  any  crudity  that  may 
be  In  the  paradox,  with  which,  as  with  the  bright 
and  shining  truth  which  often  underlies  It,  Mr. 
Wilde  startling  his  '  countrymen '  carries  on,  more 
perhaps  than  any  other,  the  brilliant  critical  work 
of  Matthew  Arnold."  This  characterization  Is  the 
very  truth  Itself.     It  Is  Interesting  to  recall  Wilde's 


314  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

confession  that  Keats,  Flaubert,  and  Walter  Pater 
were  the  only  writers  who  had  influenced  him. 

Jean- Joseph  Renaud  and  Henri  de  Regnier  have 
paid  eloquent  tributes  to  Wilde  as  a  master  of  the 
causerie.  A  great  lady  once  fantastically  said  of 
him :  **  When  he  is  speaking,  I  see  round  his  head  a 
luminous  aureole."  The  mere  exaggeration  of  the 
phrase  is  testimony  to  Wilde's  mastery  in  utterance 
of  golden  words.  "  He  was,"  says  W.  B.  Yeats, 
*'  Incomparably  the  finest  talker  of  his  epoch.  It 
was,  perhaps,  because  I  admired  his  conversation  so 
much  that  I  never  fully  appreciate  his  books.  They 
remind  me  of  something  else.  Incomparably  more 
spontaneous.  Both  he  and  George  Moore  seemed 
to  me  like  Tennyson's  Launcelot,  who,  by  sheer 
vehemence  of  nature,  all  but  saw  the  Grail 
—  but  the  full  vision  was  only  for  the  meek 
Galahad."  Wilde's  inventive  and  imaginative 
faculty  was  Inexhaustible;  and  for  hours  at  a 
time  he  could  recite  poems  In  prose,  indulge  in 
a  riot  of  paradox  and  epigram,  or  descant  with 
miraculous  and  exquisite  eloquence  upon  paint- 
ing, literature,  art,  and  —  above  all  —  upon  life. 
The  beauty  of  his  sentences  was  the  beauty  of  the 
arabesque;  his  eloquence  was  the  eloquence  of  the 
rhythmical.  In  It  all  lurked  the  defect  of  the  florid, 
the  gaudy,  the  over-elaborated.  Like  the  Japanese 
painters,  Hokusal  and  Hokkei,  Wilde  was  an  artist 
In  the  little;  and  his  art  found  room  for  expansion 


OSCAR  WILDE    .  315 

only  In  the  microcosm.  He  was  a  slave  to  the 
Scheherazade  of  his  fancy,  and  unsparingly  lavish  In 
the  largess  of  his  wit.  He  realized  that  he  was  a 
past-master  In  the  gentle  art  of  making  conversation, 
and  he  nonchalantly  Ignored  Goethe's  precept: 
"  Bllde,  Kunstler,  rede  nicht !  "  The  result  Is,  that 
he  does  not  construct,  he  only  sets  off  a  mine.  His 
art  Is  the  expression  of  his  enjoyment  of  verbal  pyro- 
technics. The  height  of  his  pleasure  was  to  shock 
the  average  Intelligence.  The  result  In  his  comedies, 
while  vastly  diverting.  Is  deplorable  from  the  stand- 
point of  dramatic  art.  For  the  conversations  are 
disjointed,  and.  In  the  dramatic  sense,  Incoherent,  In 
that  they  live  only  for  the  moment,  and  not  at  all 
for  the  sake  of  elucidation  and  propulsion  of  the 
dramatic  process.  The  comparison  with  Shaw  In 
this  particular  Immediately  suggests  Itself;  but  the 
fundamental  distinction  consists  In  the  fact  that 
whereas  In  Shaw's  comedies  the  conversation,  witty 
and  epigrammatic  to  a  degree.  Is  strictly  germane  to 
the  action,  with  Wilde  the  conversation,  with  all  Its 
sparkling  brilliancy,  Is  in  fact  subsidiary  and  beside 
the  mark.  As  Hagemann  has  said,  In  Wilde's 
comedies  the  accent  and  stress  Is  thrown  wholly  upon 
the  epigrammatic  content  of  the  dialogue. 

At  bottom  and  In  essence,  Wilde  Is  a  master  In 
the  art  of  selection.  He  Is  eminently  successful  In 
giving  the  most  diverting  character  to  our  moments 
as  they  pass.     His  art  Is  the  apotheosis  of  the  mo- 


3i6         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ment.  "  What  may  not  be  said,"  he  once  asked, 
"for  the  moment  and  the  moment's  monument  "  ? 
Art  itself,  he  averred,  is  "  really  a  form  of  exaggera- 
tion, and  selection,  which  is  the  very  spirit  of  art,  is 
nothing  more  than  an  Intensified  ode  of  over-em- 
phasis." Wilde  was  a  painter,  a  Neo-Impressionist. 
From  the  palette  of  his  observation,  which  bore  all 
the  radiant  shades  and  colors  of  his  temperament, 
he  selected  and  laid  upon  the  canvas  many  brilliant 
yet  distinct  points  of  color.  Seen  in  the  proper  light 
and  from  the  just  distance,  the  canvas  takes  on  the 
appearance  of  a  complete  picture  —  quaint,  unique, 
marvellous.  It  is  only  by  taking  precisely  Wilde's 
point  of  view  that  the  spectator  is  enabled  to  syn- 
thesize the  isolated  brilliant  points  into  a  harmonious 
whole.     Oscar  Wilde  is  a  Pointilliste. 

There  is  no  room  for  doubt  that  Oscar  Wilde 
was,  as  Nordau  classed  him,  a  pervert  and  a  degen- 
erate. And  yet  his  case  warrants  distrust  of  the 
dictum  that  an  artist's  work  and  life  are  fundamen- 
tally indissociable.  Wilde  was  a  man,  not  only  of  | 
multiple  personality,  but  of  manifest  and  disparate 
achievement.  The  style  is  not  always  the  man ;  and 
the  history  of  art  and  literature  reveals  not  a  few 
geniuses  whose  private  life  could  not  justly  be  cited 
in  condemnation  of  their  pictures,  their  poetry,  or 
their  prose.  It  Is  Indubitable  that  Wilde,  with  his 
frequently  avowed  doctrine  of  irresponsible  individ- 
ualism and  Pagan  insistence  upon  the  untrammelled 


OSCAR  WILDE  317 

expansion  of  the  Ego,  gave  suicidal  counsel  to  the 
younger  generation.  He  based  his  apostolate  upon 
the  paradox;  and  as  he  himself  asserts,  the  paradox 
IS  always  dangerous.  In  his  search  for  the  elusive, 
the  evanescent,  the  Imaginative,  he  found  certain 
exquisite  truths ;  but  they  were  only  very  partial  and 
obscure  truths,  embedded  in  a  mass  of  charmingly 
phrased,  yet  damnably  perverse,  falsehood.  Much 
of  his  verse  —  flagrant  output  of  what  Robert 
Buchanan  maliciously  crystallized  In  the  damning 
phrase,  "  The  Fleshly  School  of  Poetry  " —  Is  a 
faithful  reflex  of  his  personality  and  feeling,  with  Its 
morbid  and  sensuous  daydreams.  Its  vain  regrets  for 
"  barren  gain  and  bitter  loss,"  Its  unhealthy  and 
myopic  vision.  Its  obsession  with  the  wanton  and  the 
macabre.  And  yet,  in  spite  not  only  of  these  things 
but  also  of  the  persistent  reminder  of  alien  Influences, 
certain  of  his  poems  are  lit  with  the  divine  spark 
and  fitfully  flame  out  with  startling  and  disturbing 
lustre. 

As  an  artist  in  words,  as  prose  stylist,  Wilde  was 
possessed  of  real  gifts.  To  read  his  confession  is 
to  realize  that  art  was  the  passion  of  his  life :  "  To 
give  form  to  one's  dreams,  to  give  shape  to  one's 
fancy,  to  change  one's  Ideas  Into  Images,  to  express 
one's  self  through  a  material  that  one  makes  lovely 
by  mere  treatment,  to  realize  in  this  material  the 
immaterial  ideal  of  beauty  —  this  is  the  pleasure  of 
the  artist.     It  is  the  most  sensuous  and  most  Intel- 


31 8         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

lectual  pleasure  In  the  whole  world.'*  The  social 
ease  of  his  paradoxes,  the  opulence  of  his  Imaginative 
style,  the  union  of  simplicity  and  beauty  of  phrase- 
ology with  vague  and  sometimes  almost  meaningless 
gradations  and  shades  of  thought,  his  Insight  into  the 
real  meaning  of  art,  his  understanding  of  the  "  thing 
as  in  Itself  It  really  Is,"  and  his  rapt  glimpses  of  art's 
holy  of  holies  —  all  these  things,  at  times  and  In  In- 
tervals, were  his.  His  faculty  of  Imitation  was 
caricature  refined  and  sublimated  to  an  Infinite  de- 
gree; and,  with  less  real  comprehension  of  the 
arcana  of  art,  Wilde  might  have  been  the  author  of 
a  transcendent  Borrowed  Plumes,  And  If  he  him- 
self did  not  actually  and  literally  masquerade  In 
the  literary  garments  of  other  men,  certainly  he 
possessed  that  rare  faculty,  now  almost  a  lost  art, 
of  creeping  into  another's  personality,  temporarily 
shedding  the  husk  of  self,  and  looking  out  upon  the 
world  with  new  and  alien  eyes.  There  lies,  it 
would  seem,  the  secret  of  his  genius  —  the  faculty 
of  creative  and  Imaginative  Interpretation  in  its  ul- 
timate refinement.  He  was  ever  the  critic  as  artist, 
never  the  creator  In  the  fine  frenzy  of  creation.  It 
has  been  said  of  him  that  he  knew  everything;  but 
in  the  last  analysis  his  supreme  fault,  both  as  man 
and  artist,  was  his  arrogance  and  his  overween- 
ing sense  of  superiority.  Breaks  down  in  Wilde's 
case  —  as  does  many  another  truism  —  the  maxim : 
Tout  comprendre  (fest  tout  pardonner. 


OSCAR  WILDE  319 

"  To  be  free,'*  wrote  a  celebrity,  "  one  must  not 
conform."  Wilde  secured  a  certain  sort  of  free- 
dom in  the  drama  through  his  refusal  to  conform 
to  the  laws  of  dramatic  art.  He  claimed  the  privi- 
leges without  shouldering  the  responsibilities  of  the 
dramatist.  He  imported  the  methods  of  the 
causerie  into  the  domain  of  the  drama,  and  turned 
the  theatre  into  a  house  of  mirth.  Whether  or  no 
his  destination  was  the  palace  of  truth,  certain  it 
is  that  he  always  stopped  at  the  half-way  house. 
Art  was  the  dominant  note  of  his  literary  life;  but 
it  was  the  art  of  conversation,  not  the  art  of 
drama.  His  comedies,  as  dramas,  were  cheap 
sacrifices  to  the  god  of  success.  He  made  many 
delightful,  many  pertinent  and  impertinent  observa- 
tions upon  English  life,  and  upon  life  in  general; 
but  they  had  no  special  relation  to  the  dramatic  theme 
he  happened  for  the  moment  to  have  in  mind.  His 
plays  neither  enlarge  the  mental  horizon  nor  dilate 
the  heart.  Wilde  was  too  self-centred  an  egoist 
ever  to  come  into  any  real  or  vital  relation  with  life. 
It  was  his  primal  distinction  as  artist  to  be  con- 
sumed with  a  passionate  love  of  art.  It  was  his 
primal  deficiency  as  artist  to  have  no  genuine  sym- 
pathy with  humanity.  And  although  he  imaged  life 
with  clearness,  grace,  and  distinction,  certain  it  is 
that  he  never  saw  life  steadily,  nor  ever  saw  it 
whole. 

Wilde  called  one  of  his  plays   The  Importance 


320         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

of  Being  Earnest,  In  his  inverted  way,  he  aimed 
at  teaching  the  world  the  importance  of  being  friv- 
olous. Only  from  this  standpoint  is  it  possible  to 
appreciate,  in  any  real  sense,  Wilde,  the  comic  dram- 
atist. Wilde  is  the  arch  enemy  of  boredom  and 
ennui;  we  can  always  enjoy  him  as  a  purveyor  of 
amusement  and  a  killer  of  time.  We  are  warned 
by  his  own  confession  against  taking  Wilde, 
as  dramatist,  too  seriously.  Nor  should  we  take 
Wilde's  own  deliverances  too  seriously.  "  The 
plays  are  not  great,"  he  once  confessed  to  Andre 
Gide.  "  I  think  nothing  of  them  —  but  If  you  only 
knew  how  amusing  they  are !  "  And  the  author  of 
The  Decay  of  Lying  added:  **  Most  of  them  are_ 
the  results  of  bets  I  " 


BERNARD  SHAW 


"It  was  easy  for  Ruskin  to  lay  down  the  rule 
of  dying  rather  than  doing  unjustly;  but  death  is 
a  plain  thing:  justice  a  very  obscure  thing.  How 
is  an  ordinary  man  to  draw  the  line  between  right 
and  wrong  otherwise  than  by  accepting  public  opin- 
ion on  the  subject;  and  what  more  conclusive  ex- 
pression  of  sincere  public  opinion  can  there  be  than 
market  demand?  Even  when  we  repudiate  that  and 
fall  back  on  our  private  judgment,  the  matter 
gathers  doubt  instead  of  clearness.  The  popular 
notion  of  morality  and  piety  is  to  simply  beg  all  the 
most  important  questions  in  life  for  other  people; 
hut  when  those  questions  come  home  to  ourselves, 
we  suddenly  discover  that  the  deviVs  advocate  has  a 
stronger  case  than  we  thought:  we  remember  that 
the  way  of  righteousness  or  death  was  the  way  of 
the  Inquisition;  that  hell  is  paved,  not  with  bad  in- 
tentions, but  with  good  ones  .  .  /' 

Note    on    Modern    Prizefighting,    appended    to    Cashel    Byron's 
Profession  (authorized  edition),  H.  S.  Stone  &  Co.,  Chicago,  190X. 


BERNARD  SHAW 

That  modern  Samuel  Johnson,  the  late  Benjamin 
Jowett,  once  spoke  of  Benjamin  Disraeli  as  "  a  com- 
bination of  the  Arch-Priest  of  Humbug  and  a  great 
man."  Not  otherwise  has  Bernard  Shaw  been 
freely  characterized  In  this  day  and  generation. 
The  world-famed  American  showman,  P.  T. 
Barnum,  built  up  a  fortune  upon  the  sweet  and  simple 
faith  that  the  American  people  love  to  be  **  hum-, 
bugged."  In  the  minds  of  many,  Bernard  Shaw  has 
become  a  world-author  through  the  possession  of  a 
similar  faith :  that  not  America  alone,  but  the  whole 
world  loves  to  be  humbugged.  f^The  public  im- 
agination demands  a  best  man  everywhere,)  Shaw 
once  said;  **  and  If  Nature  does  not  supply  him  the 
public  invents  him.  The  art  of  humbug  is  the  art 
of  getting  Invented  in  this  way."  According  to  the 
pontiffs  of  literature,  a  large  part  of  Shaw's  stock 
in  trade  consists  In  making  himself  "  a  motley  to  the 
view."  Interrogated  once  as  to  the  reason  for  his 
eccentric  conduct,  Charles  Baudelaire  complacently 
replied,  '^  Pour  etonner  les  sots**  Were  Bernard 
Shaw  challenged  for  the  reasons  for  his  eccentricity, 
he  would  doubtless  reply,  "  To  astonish  the  wise." 

3*3 


V 


324         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

In  a  very  literal  sense  does  he  subscribe  to  the  Shak- 
sperean  view:  "All  the  world's  a  stage,  and  men 
and  women  only  players."  In  this  day  of  persistent 
self-puffery,  Bernard  Shaw  has  deliberately  chosen 
to  stand  in  the  limelight,  to  occupy  the  focus  of  the 
stage  of  the  world.  "  In  England  as  elsewhere  the 
spontaneous  recognition  of  really  original  work  be- 
gins with  a  mere  handful  of  people,"  he  once  said, 
"  and  propagates  itself  so  slowly  that  It  has  become 
a  commonplace  to  say  that  genius,  demanding  bread, 
is  given  a  stone  after  its  possessor's  death.  The 
remedy  for  this  Is  sedulous  advertisement.  Accord- 
ingly, I  have  advertised  myself  so  well  that  I  find 
myself,  while  still  In  middle  life,  almost  as  legendary 
a  person  as  the  Flying  Dutchman." 


/ 


^ 


Even  at  the  beglnnmg  of  the  twentieth  century, 
much  virtue  still  inheres  in  the  statement  that  life 
has  its  realities  behind  Its  shows.  Whoever  would 
write  the  natural  history  of  a  literary  phenomenon 
like  Bernard  Shaw  must  first  disabuse  his  mind  of 
the  popular  fantastic  notions  In  regard  to  his  life 
and  personality.  The  legend  of  Saint  Bernard 
fades  Into  thin  air  before  the  plain  recital  of  the  life 
of  Mr.  Shaw.  The  year  1856,  which  witnessed  the 
demise  of  the  "  first  man  of  his  century,"  Heinrich 
Heine,  likewise  witnessed  the  birth  of  the  "  laugh- 
ing Ibsen,"  Bernard  Shaw,  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  on 


^r 


BERNARD  SHAW  3^5 

July  26th.  Cursed  with  an  impecunious  father,  he 
was  early  apprenticed  to  a  land  agent  in  Dublin  to 
be  taught  the  meaning  of  thrift.  Blessed  with  a 
mother  of  rare  talent  for  music,  he  unconsciously 
acquired  a  knowledge  and  appreciation  of  music 
which  was  to  play  no  insignificant  role  in  his  later 
life.  Revolted  by  the  social  pretensions  and  preju- 
dices of  his  family,  who  "  revolved  impecuniously 
in  a  sort  of  vague  second-cousinship  round  a  bar- 
onetcy," he  soon  became  animated  with  a  Carlylean 
contempt  for  that  type  of  snobbery  denominated 
"  respectability  in  its  thousand  gigs."  He  boasts 
of  the  fact  that  as  a  schoolboy  he  was  incorrigibly 
idle  and  worthless,  since  the  training  of  four  schools 
he  successively  attended  did  him  a  great  deal  of  harm 
and  no  good  whatever.  But  it  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  his  youthful  years  were  barren  in  educa- 
tive influence.  Parrot-like,  he  would  whistle  the 
oratorios  and  operatic  scores  he  heard  repeatedly 
practised  at  home  by  the  musical  society  of  which  his 
mother  was  a  leading  figure  —  much  as  the  street- 
gamin  of  to-day  whistles  the  latest  piece  of  ragtime 
music.  Before  he  was  fifteen,  according  to  his  own 
confession,  he  knew  at  least  one  important  work  by 
Handel,  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Mendelssohn,  Rossini, 
Bellini,  Donizetti,  Verdi  and  Gounod,  from  cover 
to  cover.  -For  hours  at  a  time  the  lad  of  fifteen 
used  to  frequent  the  deserted  halls  of  the  National 
Gallery  of  Ireland;  with  his  "  spare  change  "  he 


326  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

bought  the  volumes  of  the  Bohn  translations  of 
Vasarl,  and  learned  to  recognize  the  works  of  a 
considerable  number  of  Italian  and  Flemish  painters. 

It  was  the  mature  conviction  of  his  later  years 
that  all  the  people  he  knew  as  a  boy  in  Ireland  were 
the  worse  for  what  they  called  their  religion.  On 
hearing  the  American  evangelists,  Moody  and 
Sankey,  the  young  sixteen-year-old  Shaw  was  driven 
to  protest  In  Public  Opinion  —  his  first  appearance 
in  print  —  that  if  this  were  Religion,  then  he  must 
be  an  Atheist.  Indeed,  as  he  said  a  few  years  ago, 
"  If  religion  is  that  which  binds  men  to  one  an- 
other, and  irreligion  that  which  sunders,  then  must 
I  testify  that  I  found  the  religion  of  my  country  in 
its  musical  genius  and  its  irreligion  in  its  churches 
and  drawing-rooms." 

l^j^Unlike  his  colleagues  in  criticism  of  later  years, 
William  Archer  and  Arthur  Bingham  Walkley, 
graduates  of  Edinburgh  and  Oxford  respectively, 
Bernard  Shaw  despised,  half  ignorantly,  half  pene- 
tratingly, the  thought  of  a  university  education,  for 
it  seemed  to  him  to  turn  out  men  who  all  thought 
alike  and  were  snobs. 

He  went  Into  the  land  office,  where  he  learned 
how  to  collect  rents  and  to  write  a  good  hand.  But 
although  he  retained  his  place  solely  for  the  sake 
of  financial  Independence,  his  heart  and  brain  were 
a  thousand  miles  away.  Finally  his  work  grew  un- 
bearably irksome  to  him,  and  in  the  year  1876  he 


BERNARD  SHAW  327 

deliberately  walked  out  of  the  land  office  forever. 
Shortly  afterwards,  he  joined  his  mother  in  London 

—  the  future  theatre  for  the  display  of  his  unequal, 
if  brilliant  and  versatile  genius. 

During  the  following  nine  years,  from  1876  to 
1885,  Shaw  turned  his  hand  with  only  indifferent 
success  to  many  undertakings,  j  It  was  not  simply  a 
crime,  it  was  a  blunder  to  have  been  an  Irishman 

—  and  consequently  an  alien  to  everything  genuinely 
English^  Shaw's  unembarrassed  frankness  passed 
for  outrageous  prevarication,  his  cleverest  jest  for  the 
most  solemn  earnest.  Like  Oscar  Wilde,  he  learned 
the  crippling  disadvantage  of  being  an  Irishman  of 
superior  mentality,  ever  trifling  in  a  world  of  ideas. 
Whatever  he  did  met  with  failure;  his  lightest  plays 
of  fancy  were  as  unwelcome  to  the  English  public 
as  were  his  heaviest  efforts  at  blank  verse,  at  criticism 
of  music,  at  journalistic  hack  work.  Through  his 
acquaintance  with  Chichester  Bell,  of  the  family  of 
that  name,  so  celebrated  for  scientific  invention  and 
notable  research,  he  became  interested  in  physics 
and  acquainted  with  the  works  of  Tyndall  and 
Helmholtz.  He  even  worked  for  a  time  with  a 
company  formed  in  London  to  exploit  an  invention 
of  the  great  American  inventor,  Thomas  A.  Edison. 
After  various  attempts,  of  which  this  was  the  last, 
to  assist  his  parents  by  endeavoring  to  earn  an  honest 
living  for  himself,  he  finally  gave  up  trying,  he  con- 
fesses, to  commit  this  sin  against  his  nature.     It  Is 


328  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

true  that  his  life  was  not  without  its  diversions ;  for 
his  talent  as  a  congenial  accompanist  on  the  piano 
assured  his  entree  into  a  certain  desirable  circle  of 
musical  society  in  London;  and  the  great  library  at 
Bloomsbury  and  the  priceless  picture  galleries  at 
Trafalgar  Square  and  Hampton  Court,  certainly, 
were  not  lacking  In  a  hospitality  of  which  he  gladly 
availed  himself. 

During  the  five  years  from  1879  to  1884  inclu- 
sive, he  devoted  his  energies  ruthlessly  to  the  pro- 
duction of  five  novels,  one  of  them  never  published, 
which  were  to  lead,  if  not  to  the  immediate  estab- 
lishment of  literary  position,  certainly  to  the  forma- 
tion of  valuable  friendships  and  acquaintances  of 
lifelong  standing.  Again  and  again  he  sent  forth 
his  manuscripts;  but  they  were  invariably  returned 
by  the  publishers.  His  Iconoclasm,  his  freedom  of 
thought  and  expression,  his  Ibsenic  frankness  in  deal- 
ing with  the  gray,  garish  aspects  of  contemporary 
life,  were  In  Inverse  ratio  to  the  requirements  of 
the  conservative,  unprogresslve  London  publishers. 
Unwilling  to  sacrifice  his  art,  resolved  "  to  paint 
man  man,  whatever  the  Issue,'*  and  determined  not 
to  disavow  the  principles  at  which  he  had  arrived, 
he  accepted  the  alternative  —  the  temporary  failure 
of  his  novels. 

To  the  Socialist  revival  of  the  'eighties,  the  world 
owes  the  credit  for  the  discovery  of  Bernard  Shaw. 
In  1879,  Shaw  first  met  the  late  James  Lecky,  and 


BERNARD  SHAW  329 

acquired  the  grounding  in  Temperament,  the  fond- 
ness for  Phonetics,  and  the  early  incentive  to  public 
speaking  which  have  borne  such  abundant  fruit  in 
his  later  career.  Through  Lecky's  influence,  Shaw 
joined,  and  became  a  constant  debater  in,  the  Zeleti- 
cal  Society,  a  debating  club  modelled  on  the  once 
famed  Dialectical  Society.  Here  Shaw  first  met 
Sidney  Webb,  that  able  Socialist  economist,  and  soon 
became  his  close  friend  and  co-worker.  Shaw  sub- 
sequently joined  the  Dialectical  Society  and  re- 
mained faithful  to  it  for  a  number  of  years.  From 
this  time  on,  he  evinced  the  greatest  interest  in  public 
speaking,  and  persistently  haunted  public  meetings 
of  all  sorts.  One  night,  in  1883,  he  wandered  into 
the  Memorial  Hall  in  Farrington  Street;  by  chance 
the  speaker  was  the  great  Single-Taxer,  Henry 
George.  For  the  first  time  did  the  importance  of 
the  economic  basis  dawn  upon  Shaw's  mind.  He 
left  the  meeting  a  changed  man;  and  soon  was  de- 
vouring George's  Progress  and  Poverty  and  Marx's 
Das  Kapital  with  all  the  ardor  of  youth  and  burning 
social  enthusiasm.  While  Shaw  refused  to  sub- 
scribe to  all  the  economic  theories  of  Marx,  and 
later  victoriously  refuted  him  on  the  question  of 
the  Theory  gjf_Yalu£j  he  realized  the  overwhelming 
validity  of  the  "  bible  of  the  working  classes  "  as  a 
jeremiad  against  the  bourgeoisie.  During  these 
days,  he  spoke  early  and  often,  at  the  street  corner, 
on  the  curbstone,  from  the  tail  of  a  cart.     He  once 


330  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

said  that  he  first  caught  the  ear  of  the  British  public 
on  a  cart  In  Hyde  Park,  to  the  blaring  of  brass 
bands ! 

In  practical  conjunction  with  Sidney  Webb,  Gra- 
ham Wallas  and  Sidney  Olivier,  although  they  act- 
ually joined  at  different  times,  Shaw  became  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Fabian  Society  after  It  had  been  in  exist- 
ence only  a  short  time.  His  connection  with  that 
society  is  a  matter  of  history,  and  finds  tangible 
evidence  to-day,  not  only  in  books  and  pamphlets, 
but  also  in  the  actual  Socialist  and  Labor  repre- 
sentation In  the  London  County  Council  and  British 
parliament.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  from  the  very 
first,  his  influence  made  itself  most  strongly  felt 
upon  the  society,  and  for  many  years  he  has  been 
the  guiding  spirit  in  its  rouncils.  Through  the  es- 
tablishment of  certain  Socialist  journals  during  the 
'eighties,  Shaw's  novels  began  to  find  their  way  into 
print.  An  Unsocial  Socialist  and  Cashel  Byron^s 
Profession  appeared  in  To-day^  printed  by  Henry 
Hyde  Champion,  later  by  Belfort  Bax  and  James 
Leigh  Joynes,  among  others;  The  Irrational  Knot 
and  Love  Among  the  Artists  appeared  in  Our  Cor- 
ner, published  by  the  brilliant  orator  and  Socialist 
agitator,  Mrs.  Annie  Besant.  They  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  the  British  public,  but  greatly  pleased  such 
men  as  William  Archer,  William  Morris,  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  and  William  E.  Henley,  who  gave 
either  public  or  personal  expressions  of  their  ap- 


BERNARD  SHAW  331 

preclatlon.  From  time  to  time  in  the  last  fifteen 
years  they  have  been  published  in  both  England  and 
America,  with  varying,  but  in  general,  with  unusual 
success  in  this  day  of  Infinlteslmally  short-lived  suc- 
cesses. 

From  1883  on,  Shaw  was  daily  coming  in  contact 
with  the  brilliant  spirits  of  the  younger  generation 
in  Socialism,  and  with  the  leaders  in  thought  and 
opinion  on  the  side  of  vegetarianism,  humanitarian- 
ism  and  land  nationalization.  There  were  James 
Leigh  Joynes,  who  had  been  arrested  in  Ireland 
with  Henry  George;  Sidney  Olivier,  afterwards  a 
distinguished  author  and  now  Governor  of  Jamaica ; 
Henry  Hyde  Champion,  the  well-known  Socialist; 
Henry  Salt,  an  Eton  master,  married  to  Joynes' 
sister;  and  Edward  Carpenter,  the  greatest  living 
disciple  of  Walt  Whitman.  After  joining  the  Fa- 
bian Society,  Shaw's  constant  associates  were  Hubert 
Bland,  Graham  Wallas,  Sidney  Olivier,  and  Sidney 
Webb ;  and  through  his  Socialist  activities  he  became  /|\ 
a  friend  of  William  Morris,  who  was  never  a 
Fabian,  but  who  maintained  an  attitude  of  the 
broadest  tolerance  towards  all  the  Socialist  sects.  In 
their  early  days  the  Fabians  were  as  Insurrectionary 
In  principle  as  the  other  Socialist  bodies  in  London; 
not  until  the  election  in  1885  did  the  line  of  cleavage 
between  the  Fabian  Society  and  the  Social  Demo- 
cratic Federation  clearly  appear.  At  this  time,  the 
Fabian  Society  openly  denounced  the  conduct  of  the 


332  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


1  ac-* 


Council  of  the  Social-Democratic  Federation  in  ac- 
cepting money  from  the  Tory  party  in  payment  of 
the  election  expenses  of  Socialist  candidates  as  cal- 
culated to  disgrace  the  Socialist  movement  in  Eng- 
land. In  the  following  two  years,  the  Fabian  So- 
ciety took  little  or  no  part  in  the  organization  ofA 
insurrectionary  projects  in  London;  and  finally,  after 
many  debates  with  that  section  of  the  Socialist 
League  known  as  Anti-Communist,  headed  by  Jo- 
seph Lane  and  William  Morris,  definitely  discounte- 
nanced Kropotkinism  among  its  members.  Indeed, 
they  finally  demolished  Anarchism  in  the  abstract, 
as  Shaw  said,  "  by  grinding  It  between  human  nature 
and  the  theory  of  economic  rent."  j 

When  Shaw  first  joined  the  Zeletical  Society,  he 
was  the  poorest  of  debaters;  but  he  possessed  the 
nerve  to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  He  practised 
platform  oratory  incessantly,  haunted  hole-and- 
corner  debates  of  all  sorts,  and  seized  every  op- 
portunity to  make  himself  proficient  in  the  art  of 
public  exhibition  of  his  views.  He  joined  the 
Hampstead  Historic  Club,  and  there  learned  the 
theories  of  Marx  through  the  necessity  of  elucidat- 
ing them  for  his  colleagues.  He  was  one  of  a  pri- 
vate circle  of  economists,  which  afterwards  de- 
veloped into  the  British  Economic  Association;  at 
these  meetings  the  social  question  was  Ignored,  and 
the  discussions  were  conducted  solely  on  an  eco- 
nomic basis.     In  this  way  Shaw  became  thoroughly 


BERNARD  SHAW  333 

grounded  in  economic  theory;  and  In  this  way  also, 
he  learned  supremely  well  the  art  of  public  speak- 
ing. As  a  speaker,  Shaw  far  excelled  William 
Morris;  lacking  the  genius  for  oratory  of  a  Charles 
Bradlaugh  or  an  Annie  Besant,  he  yet  combined  the 
imperturbability  of  a  Sidney  Webb  with  the  wit  of 
an  Oscar  Wilde.  Ever  on  the  alert,  he  is  keen, 
incisive,  and  facile  as  a  public  speaker;  he  has  every 
faculty  about  him  when  he  mounts  the  platform. 
He  combines  the  devastating  wit  of  the  Irishman  -^ 
with  the  penetrating  logic  of  the  Frenchman.  He 
gave  hundreds  of  lectures  and  addresses,  and  fre- 
quently debated  in  public  in  London  and  the 
provinces,  for  many  years;  and  always  at  his  own 
expense  —  for  the  Cause.  His  speech  Is  always  a 
challenge.  *'  Call  me  disagreeable,  only  call  me 
something,"  he  vigorously  clamors;  "for  then  I 
have  roused  you  from  your  stupid  torpor  and  made  ^ 
you  think  a  new  thought!  "  ^ 

In  principle  and  in  practice,  Shaw  is  a  strictly  ; 
constitutional  Socialist;  he  has  no  faith  In  revolu- 
tionary measures,  save  as  the  very  last  resort  against  ' 
direst  tyranny.  Inspired  by  Philip  WIcksteed's  at- 
tack on  Marx's  Theory  of  Value,  Shaw  devoted  a 
great  deal  of  time  to  the  study  of  the  economic 
theories  of  the  late  Stanley  Jevons;  and  with  the 
aid  of  the  Jevonlan  machinery  exposed  the  fallacies 
in  the  Marxian  Theory  of  Value. 

Furthermore,  he  denied  the  existence  of  what  is 


334         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

called  the  war  of  classes ;  \he  did  everything  possible 
to  reduce  Socialism  to  an  intellectual  rather  than  to 
an  emotional  basis,  to  envisage  it  as  a  product  of 
economic  factors  rather  than  of  insurrectionism. 
His  position  is  admirably  summed  up  in  the  follow- 
ing passage : 

"  The  Fabian  declares  quite  simply  that  there  is 
no  revolution,  that  there  exists  no  war  of  classes, 
that  the  salaried  workers  are  far  more  imbued  with 
conventions  and  prejudices  and  more  bourgeois  than 
the  middle  class  itself;  that  there  is  not  a  single 
legal  power  democratically  constituted,  without  ex- 
cepting the  House  of  Commons,  which  would  not  be 
much  more  progressive  were  it  not  restrained  by  the 
fear  of  the  popular  vote;  that  Karl  Marx  is  no 
more  infallible  than  Aristotle  or  Bacon,  Ricardo  or 
Buckle,  and  that,  like  them,  he  has  committed  errors 
now  obvious  to  the  casual  student  of  economics;  that 
a  declared  Socialist  is,  morally,  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  a  liberal  or  a  conservative,  nor  a  work- 
man than  a  capitalist;  that  the  workman  can  change 
the  actual  governmental  system  if  he  so  desires, 
while  the  capitalist  cannot  do  so,  because  the  work- 
man would  not  permit  him ;  that  it  is  an  absurd  con- 
tradiction in  terms  to  declare  that  the  working 
classes  are  starved,  impoverished  and  kept  in  igno- 
rance by  a  system  which  loads  the  capitalist  with 
food,  education,  and  refinement^  of  all  sorts,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  pretend  that  the  capitalist  is  a 


BERNARD  SHAW  335 

scoundrel,  harsh  and  sordid  in  spirit,  while  the  work- 
man Is  a  high-minded,  enlightened  and  magnanimous 
philanthropist;  that  Socialism  will  eventuate  in  the 
gradual  establishment  of  public  rule  and  a  public  ad- 
ministration set  Into  effective  action  by  parliaments, 
assemblies  and  common  councils;  and  that  none  of 
these  rules  will  lead  to  revolution  nor  occupy  more 
plaoe  in  the  political  programme  of  the  time  than  a 
law  for  the  regulation  of  manufactures  or  the  ballot 
would  do  now:  in  a  word,  that  the  part  of  the  So- 
cialist will  be  a  definitely  fixed  political  labor,  to 
struggle  not  against  the  malevolent  machinations  of 
the  cap^alist,  but  against  the  stupidity,  narrowness, 
in  a  W(5rd,  the  idiocy  (in  giving  to  the  word  its  pre- 
cise aAd  original  sense)  of  the  class  which  actually 
suffers  most  from  the  existing  system."  ^ 

Bernard  Shaw  resumed  his  literary  labors  rather 
late  in  the  'eighties,  and  has  been  diligent  as  a  man 
of  letters  ever  since.  Indeed,  his  is  an  unusually 
checkered  career,  since  he  has,  at  one  time  or  an- 
other, dipped  Into  almost  every  phase  of  authorship.  ^ 
For  a  tkne,  through  the  kind  offices  of  Mr.  William 
Archer,  Shaw  was  enabled  to  write  criticisms  of 
books  and  pictures  in  The  World;  and  at  times  also 
he  wrote  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  and  Truth,  In 
1888,  Shaw  joined  the  editorial  staff  of  The  Star 
on  the  second  day  of  Its  existence;  but  his  Socialist 

"^Les  Illusions   du  Socialisme,  by  Bernard  Shaw;   L'Humaniti 
Nowelle,  August,  1900. 


336  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

utterances  so  alarmed  the  editor,  the  brilliant  wit. 
P.  O'Connor,  that  Shaw  was  given  a  column  to  fill 
with  comments  on  current  music  —  a  subject  harm- 
less from  the  political  point  of  view  at  least.  Here 
Shaw  gave  free  vent  to  his  eccentricity,  and  the 
paper  fairly  blazed  with  his  jests  and  hardiesses,  his 
follies  and  foibles,  his  quips  and  cranks.  Dissem- 
bling his  wide  knowledge  of  music,  especially 
modern  music,  by  means  of  an  air  of  irresponsible 
levity  and  outrageous  flippancy,  he  gave  no  ground 
for  suspicion  of  the  existence  in  these  delightful  sallies 
of  a  solid  substratum  of  genuine  criticism.  As 
"  Corno  dl  Bassetto,"  he  vied  with  his  colleague,  A. 
B.  Walkley,  the  dramatic  critic  for  The  Star,  in 
furnishing  rare  entertainment  for  the  readers  of  that 
first  of  London  half-penny  papers. 

When  Louis  Engel  resigned  his  position  as 
musical  critic  on  the  staff  of  The  World,  the  post 
fittingly  fell  to  Bernard  Shaw,  who  for  long  had 
slowly  been  saturating  himself  In  the  best  music 
from  Mozart  to  Wagner,  from  London  to  Bayreuth. 
Until  now,  he  had  made  no  stir  In  the  world  of 
letters  —  few  people  knew  who  "  C.  dl  B."  really 
was.  But  as  a  successor  of  Louis  Engel,  he  entered 
into  his  new  duties  with  zeal  and  zest,  and  created 
a  new  standard  for  The  World  by  his  brilliant  and 
witty  critiques.  *'  Every  man  has  an  Inalienable 
right  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,"  Victor  Hugo  once 
wrote;  "  but  he  should  not  abuse  that  right."     Ber- 


I 


BERNARD  SHAW  337 

nard  Shaw  stopped  just  short  of  abuse  of  his  inalien- 
able right.  Like  a  street  fakir,  he  announced  the 
value  of  his  wares  with  sublime  audacity.  He 
adopted  the  haughty  tone  of  superiority  of  a  Wilde 
or  a  Whistler,  although  he  did  it  always  not  only  in 
the  wittiest  but  also  in  the  most  good-natured  way 
imaginable.  The  oculist  who  once  examined  his 
eyes  seems  to  have  been  the  unwitting  cause  of  first 
diverting  the  rewards  of  literature  in  his  direction. 
The  ophthalmic  specialist  declared  that  Shawns  vision 
was  "  normal,"  at  the  same  time  explaining  that 
the  vision  of  nine-tenths  of  the  people  In  the  world  is 
abnormal.  Shaw  at  once  leaped  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  intellectual  as  well  as  his  physical  vision 
was  normal,  while  that  of  the  "  damned  compact, 
liberal  majority  "  was  aberrant,  myopic,  astygmatlc. 
Too  conscientious  to  put  on  a  pair  of  abnormal 
spectacles  and  aberr  his  vision  to  suit  the  taste  of 
the  astygmatlc  nine-tenths  of  the  reading  public,  too 
poor  to  attempt  transcripts  of  life  in  order  to  win 
the  support  of  the  one-tenth  which,  because  of  nor- 
mal vision,  was  therefore  as  impecunious  as  him- 
self, he  turned  critic  and  appeared  before  the  British 
public  as  Punch.  He  had  only  to  open  his  eyes 
and  describe  things  exactly  as  they  appeared  to  him, 
to  become  known  as  the  most  humorously  extrava- 
gant paradoxer  in  London.  He  succeeded  In 
demonstrating  once  again  the  old,  old  proposition 
that  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction. 


338  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

After  a  while  the  exuberant  "  G.  B.  S./*  as  he 
signed  himself  in  The  World,  set  out  in  search  of 
new  fields  to  conquer.  When  Mr.  Frank  Harris 
—  who  possessed  the  virtues,  as  well  as  some  of 
the  faults,  of  Mr.  Edmund  Yates  —  revived  The 
Saturday  Review,  Shaw  was  chosen  as  dramatic 
critic.  He  at  once  characteristically  broke  the  sa- 
cred tradition  of  anonymity,  till  then — 1895  — 
inviolate  in  its  columns.  In  earlier  years,  Shaw  had 
often  spoken  to  deaf  ears;  for  his  was  the  strange 
language  of  a  Robertson,  a  Gilbert,  a  Wilde.  In 
all  that  he  wrote  there  was  that  contradictoriness  be- 
tween letter  and  spirit,  so  characteristic  of  the  Celtic 
genius.  Everything  struck  his  mind  at  such  an 
acute  angle  as  to  give  forth  prismatic  refractions  of 
dazzling  and  many-hued  brilliancy.  His  first  great 
period  began  as  critic  on  The  World,  when  he 
zealously  lauded  Wagner,  daringly  defied  the  aca- 
demic school  of  British  music,  and  gaily  set  himself 
up  as  the  infallible  critic  of  the  musical  world.  And 
now  as  dramatic  critic  on  The  Saturday  Review^  he 
achieved  in  a  few  years  the  reputation  of  the  most 
brilliant  journalistic  writer  in  England. 

Like  Taine,  he  realized  the  important  truth  that 
those  things  we  agree  to  call  abnormal,  are  in 
reality  normal,  and  appear  quite  naturally  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  events.  Accordingly,  he  devised 
a    well-known    formula    for    readable    journalism: 


BERNARD  SHAW  339 

"  Spare  no  labor  to  find  out  the  right  thing  to  say; 
and  then  say  it  with  the  most  exasperating  levity,  as 
if  it  were  the  first  thing  that  would  come  into  any 
one's  head."  He  expressed  the  belief  that  good 
journalism  is  much  rarer  and  more  important  than 
good  literature;  and  by  his  own  rare  and  unique 
work  he  gave  a  practical  proof  of  the  truth  of  his 
conviction.  He  led  a  magnificent  crusade  in  behalf 
of  Ibsen  and  in  defiance  of  Shakspere.  If,  on  the 
one  hand,  he  praised  Ibsen  to  the  skies  for  the 
intellectual  content  of  his  plays,  on  the  other  hand 
he  upbraided  Shakspere  for  his  lamentable  poverty 
in  the  matter  of  philosophy.  If  he  saw  in  Ibsen  a 
disheartened  optimist  disagreeably  intent  upon  im- 
proving the  world,  he  saw  in  Shakspere  a  vulgar 
pessimist,  with  vanitas  vanitaum  eternally  upon  his 
lips.  If  Ibsen  not  infrequently  jarred  his  sensibili- 
ties with  the  ultra-realism  of  his  clinical  demonstra- 
tions, Shakspere  gave  him  unfeigned  pleasure  by  the 
music  of  his  language  —  his  "  word-music  "  as  it  has 
been  called  —  his  delightful  fancy,  his  large  per- 
ception of  the  comic,  and  his  incomparable  art  as  a 
story-teller.  When  Shaw  finished  his  dramatic  ca- 
reer, he  had  the  gratification  of  the  knowledge  that 
while  Ibsen  was  not  popular  on  the  English  stage, 
he  was  nevertheless  recognized  by  the  highest  au- 
thorities as  the  greatest  of  living  dramatists.  And 
he  boasted  on   severing  his   connection  with    The 


340  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Saturday  Review ^  that  whereas,  when  he  began  his 
work  as  a  dramatic  critic,  Shakspere  was  a  divinity 
and  a  bore,  now  he  was  at  least  a  fellow-creature ! 

At  last,  in  1898,  he  severed  his  connection  with 
The  Saturday  Review  and  became  a  dramatist  by 
profession.  He  had,  by  dogmatic  assertions,  itera- 
tion and  reiteration  of  his  merits  as  wit,  raconteur 
and  paradoxer,  so  he  declares,  actually  succeeded  in 
establishing  his  Uterary  prestige  for  all  time.  He 
might  dodder  and  dote,  platitudinize  and  pot-boil; 
but,  once  convinced,  the  dull  but  honest  British  jrj,- 
telligence  could  not  be  shakeii!  He  Kad  tecome  the 
jester  at  the  court  of  King  Demos  —  the  confessor 
of  the  sovereign  public.  And  that  public  rewarded 
him  at  last  with  eager  appreciation  of  all  his  sallies 
and  hon  mots. 

II 

As  a  comic  dramatist,  Shaw  has  always  won  the 
joyous  appreciation  of  his  auditors,  never  the  intel- 
lectual perception  of  the  critic.  No  general  grasp 
of  his  originality  and  essentially  novel  dramatic 
technique,  as  Ibsen,  as  Maeterlinck,  are  understood, 
has  yet  been  achieved  by  the  English-speaking  public. 
This,  it  cannot  too  decisively  be  asserted,  is  due,  not 
to  the  failure  of  the  public  to  appreciate  his  dramas, 
but  to  the  slovenliness  of  dramatic  criticism  in  per- 
ceiving the  genuine  technical  novelty  of  his  dramatic 
form.     Even  this  decisive  statement  must  be  modi- 


BERNARD  SHAW  341 

fied  by  the  admission  that  Shaw,  with  his  passion 
for  comical  mystification,  has  taken  a  certain  sort 
of  impish  delight  in  averring  that  he  is  really  a  con- 
servative In  technique,  following  in  the  beaten  path 
of  classic  dramatic  tradition.  "I  find  that  the 
surest  way  to  startle  the  world  with  daring  innova- 
tions and  originalities,"  he  has  said  more  than  once, 
**  Is  to  do  exactly  what  playwrights  have  been  doing 
for  thousands  of  years ;  to  revive  the  ancient  attrac- 
tion of  long  rhetorical  speeches;  to  stick  closely  to 
the  methods  of  Mollere;  and  to  lift  characters  bodily 
out  of  the  pages  of  Charles  Dickens.'* 

There  are  two  fundamental  Ideas,  consistently 
held  and  strenuously  maintained  by  Shaw,  which, 
rightly  understood,  effectually  shatter  the  super- 
ficial theory  that  he  Is  an  artistic  mountebank,  ex- 
ploiting the  theatre  as  an  instrumentality  for  shal- 
low ends.  Back  of  all  surface  manifestations  lies 
the  supreme  conviction  of  Shaw  that  the  theatre  of 
to-day,  properly  utilized,  is  an  instrumentality  for 
the  molding  of  character  and  the  shaping  of  con- 
duct no  whit  Inferior  to  the  Church  and  the  School. 
Indeed,  the  modern  Church  seems  to  be  losing  Its 
hold  upon  the  great  masses  of  the  people  through 
Its  divorce  from  the  central  realities  of  practical 
living,  the  insincerity  of  ministers  In  veiling  from 
the  congregation  the  theological  doubts  aroused  by 
the  "  higher  criticism  "  which  they  dare  not  express, 
the   circular  monotony   of  the   Scriptural   exegesis 


342  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 


which  stands  forever  in  the  way  of  forthright  dis- 
cussion of  the  fortifying  realities  and  possibilities  of 
sheer  living.  The  university  of  to-day,  in  many 
cases,  far  from  being  a  pioneer  in  the  advancement 
of  the  frontier  of  art,  staggering,  strange,  forward- 
looking,  remains  the  citadel  of  conservatism,  the 
stronghold  of  literary  "  stand-pattism,"  turning  Its 
eyes  ceaselessly  backward  upon  the  acknowledged 
literary  masterpieces  —  these  and  these  only  —  and 
timidly  shrinking  from  the  bold  task  of  assaying  the 
literary  gold^of  the  future. 

/  *^n  the  spirit  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  Shaw  sees  in 
the  theatre  of  to-day  an  Infinitely  powerful  instru- 
mentality for  popular  education  and  social  Instruc- 
tion.    Indeed,  the  theatre  may  even  go  further,  and 
/  by  popularizing  great  sociological,  philosophical  and 
/    religious  ideas,  exercise  an  almost  incalculable  effect 
j     upon  the  social  morals  of  a  whole  people.     It  is 
\    Shaw's  basic  conviction  that  the  theatre  of  the  future 
\is  in  the  hands  of  the  sociological  dramatist  who 
/  may,  if  he  but  will,  make  It  as  important  a  social 
1  institution  as  was  the  Church  In  the  Middle  Ages. 
In  so  eminently  sane  a  social  worker  as  Jane  Addams 
he  has  won  support  for  his  belief  that  the  theatre 
of  to-day  exercises  a  greater  influence  in  forming  ac- 
cepted codes  of  morals  than  does  the  Church,  be- 
cause, as  Miss  Addams  puts  it,  the  Church  is  so 
"  reluctant  to  admit  conduct  to  be  the  supreme  and 
efficient  test  of  religious  validity."     The  theatre  is 


I 


BERNARD  SHAW  343 

a  school  of  manners,  of  morals,  both  Individual  and 
social,  exercising  an  influence  that  is  none  the  less 
powerful  in  that  it  is  indirect.  Indeed,  the  subtle 
force  of  the  comedies  of  Shaw  is  heightened 
through  the  enjoyment  which  they  give.  The  bitter 
pill  of  the  moralist  is  coated  with  the  sugar 
of  the  artist.  Shaw  does  actually  continue  the 
classic  tradition  of  Moliere  who  said  that  a  comedy 
is  nothing  less  than  an  ingenious  poem  which,  in 
agreeable  lessons,  portrays  human  weaknesses. 
There  is  the  deeper  note  In  Shaw.  He  surpasses 
Moliere  as  a  moralist,  because  Moliere  was  a  censor 
of  Individual  vices  whilst  Shaw  Is  a  censor  of  the 
sociological  evils  arising  from  the  structural  defects 
of  modern  society  and  modern  civilization. 

*'  The  apostolic  succession  from  Eschylus  to  my- 
self," Shaw  has  irreverently  said,  "  Is  as  serious  and 
as  continuously  Inspired  as  that  younger  institution, 
the  apostolic  succession  of  the  Christian  Church. 
Unfortunately  this  Christian  Church,  founded  gaily 
with  a  pun,  has  been  so  largely  corrupted  by  rank 
satanIsm  that  It  has  become  the  Church  where  you 
must  not  laugh;  and  so  It  Is  giving  away  to  that 
older  and  greater  Church  to  which  I  belong:  the 
Church  where  the  oftener  you  laugh  the  better,  be- 
cause by  laughter  only  can  you  destroy  evil  without 
malice,  and  affirm  good-fellowship  without  mawk- 
ishness."  The  remarkable  popular  attention  which 
Shaw  won  as  a  dramatic  critic  was  due  in  great 


344  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

measure  not  only  to  his  trenchant  satire  but  also  to 
the  sincerity  of  his  faith  in  the  mission  of  the 
theatre.  He  not  only  took  the  theatre  seriously;  he 
actually  preached  about  it  as  a  "  factory  of  thought, 
a  prompter  of  conscience,  an  elucidator  of  social 
conduct,  an  armoury  against  despair  and  dullness, 
and  a  temple  of  the  Ascent  of  Man." 

The  Shaw  who  speaks  of  the  "  apostolic  succes- 
sion from  Eschylus  to  myself  "  is  giving  expression 
to  the  second  fundamental  conviction  of  his  nature. 
With  the  intimate  knowledge  of  his  character  de- 
rived during  the  years  devoted  to  the  infinitely  com- 
plex task  of  writing  his  biography,  I  am  convinced 
Shaw  firmly  believes  in  "  inspiration  " —  in  artistic 
inspiration  no  less  than  In  spiritual  inspiration. 
This  view,  which  I  have  often  heard  him  express 
privately,  he  has  recently  expounded  at  length,  in 
answer  to  the  request  of  the  Modern  Historic 
Record  Association  to  "  define  the  principles  that 
govern  the  dramatist  in  his  selection  of  themes  and 
methods  of  treatment."  So  illuminating  is  that 
reply,  so  characteristic  at  once  of  the  man,  the 
dramatist,  and  the  economist,  that  I  quote  it  here  In 
full: 

"  I  am  not  governed  by  principles;  I  am  inspired; 
how  or  why  I  cannot  explain  because  I  do  not  know. 
But  inspiration  it  must  be ;  for  It  comes  to  me  with- 
out any  reference  to  my  own  ends  or  Interests. 

"  I  find  myself  possessed  of  a  theme  In  the  fol- 


BERNARD  SHAW  345    / 

lowing  manner.     I  am  pushed  by  a  natural  need  to    I 
set  to  work  to  write  down  conversations  that  come   i 
into  my  head  unaccountably.     At  first  I  hardly  know  I 
the  speakers,  and  cannot  find  names  for  them.     Then  j 
they  become  more  and  more  familiar;  and  I  learn  | 
their  names.     Finally  I  come  to  know  them  very  \ 
well,  and  discover  what  it  is  they  are  driving  at  and 
why  they  have  said  and  done  the  things  I  have  been 
moved  to  set  down. 

**  This  is  not  being  *  guided  by  principles';  it  is 
hallucination;  and  sane  hallucination  is  what  we  call 
play  or  drama.  ...  I  do  not  select  my  methods: 
they  are  imposed  on  me  by  a  hundred  considera- 
tions: by  the  physical  conditions  of  theatric  repre- 
sentation, by  the  laws  devised  by  the  municipality 
to  guard  against  fires  and  other  accidents  to  which 
theatres  are  liable,  by  the  economic  conditions  of 
theatrical  commerce,  by  the  nature  and  limits  of  the 
art  of  acting,  by  the  capacity  of  the  spectators  for 
understanding  what  they  see  and  hear,  and  by  the 
accidental  circumstances  of  the  particular  production 
in  hand. 

"  I  have  to  think  of  my  pocket,  of  the  manager's 
pocket,  of  the  actors'  pockets,  of  the  spectators' 
pockets,  of  how  long  people  can  be  kept  sitting  in 
a  theatre  without  relief  or  refreshments,  of  the 
range  of  the  performer's  voice  and  of  the  hearing 
and  vision  of  the  boy  at  the  back  of  the  gallery, 
whose  right  to  be  put  In  full  possession  of  the  play 


346  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

is  as  sacred  as  that  of  the  millionaire  in  the  stalls 
or  boxes.  ^ 

"  I  have  to  consider  theatre  rents,  the  rate  of  in- 
terest needed  to  tempt  capitalists  to  face  the  risks 
of  financing  theatres,  the  extent  to  which  the  magic 
of  art  can  break  through  commercial  prudence,  the 
limits  set  by  honor  and  humanity  to  the  tasks  I  may 
set  to  my  fellow-artist  the  actor:  in  short,  all  the 
factors  that  must  be  allowed  for  before  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  play  on  the  stage  becomes  practicable 
or  justifiable;  factors  which  some  never  compre- 
hend, and  which  others  integrate  almost  as  uncon- 
sciously as  they  breathe  or  digest  their  food. 

"  It  is  these  factors  that  dictate  the  playwright's 
methods,  leaving  him  so  little  room  for  selection 
that  there  is  not  a  pennyworth  o'  difference  between 
the  methods  of  Sophocles  or  Shakspere  and  those 
of  the  maker  of  the  most  ephemeral  farce. 

"  And  withal,  when  the  play  is  made,  the  writer 
must  feed  himself  and  his  family  by  it.  Indeed, 
there  are  men  and  woman  who  are  forced  by  this 
necessity  to  simulate  inspiration,  repeating  its  ges- 
tures and  copying  its  tricks  so  as  to  produce  arti- 
ficial plays:  constructed  things  with  no  true  life  in 
them,  yet  sometimes  more  amusing  than  real  plays, 
just  as  a  clockwork  mouse  is  more  amusing  than  a 
real  mouse,  though  it  will  kill  the  cat  who  swallows 
it  in  good  faith  .  .  ." 


BERNARD  SHAW  347 

III 

One  of  the  most  oddly  significant  commentaries 
upon  the  Anglo-Saxon  indifference  to  the  great  ideas 
of  the  century  whenever  they  are  concretized  into 
the  form  of  actable  drama,  is  furnished  by  the  amaz- 
ing unanimity,  on  the  part  of  dramatic  critics  in 
both  England  and  America,  in  denying  the  actual 
existence  of  such  an  entity  as  the  Shavian  philosophy. 
So  irreparably  is  the  average  theatrical  newsman, 
by  courtesy  dubbed  Dramatic  Critic,  divorced  from 
the  real  life  of  philosophy,  ethics,  politics,  and  soci- 
ology ;  so  hopelessly  is  his  critical  perception  warped 
by  the  romantic  conventions,  senescent  models,  and 
classic  traditions  of  the  stage,  so  entirely  does  he 
breathe  the  air  of  box-office  receipts,  shine  in  the 
reflected  halo  of  "  stars,"  or  dwell  in  the  unreal  at- 
mosphere of  stage  human  nature,  that  when  the  new 
truths  of  a  new  philosophy  present  themselves  to 
his  judgment,  his  power  to  recognize  them  as  valu- 
able or  even  as  truths,  is  irretrievably  lost.  And  if 
perchance  the  dramatist,  accepting  as  a  mere  rhe- 
torical question  Horace's  "  Quamquam  ridentem  di- 
cere  verum  quid  vetat?",  possesses  the  genius  and 
the  hardihood  to  embody  his  profoundly  serious 
views  of  life  in  brilliantly  witty  and  epigrammatic 
expression,  let  him  beware  of  the  penalty  of  being 
regarded  as  a  frivolous  and  light-headed  near-philos- 
opher I 


348  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Stranger  still,  one  might  even  venture  to  say  al- 
most remarkable,  is  the  attitude  of  some  of  the 
leading  English  and  American  dramatic  critics,  who 
happen  to  be  men  of  the  world  in  the  large  sense, 
thoroughly  cosmopolitan  in  spirit.  Mr.  Walkley  is 
quite  willing  to  admit  that  Bernard  Shaw  has  let  in 
a  fresh  current  of  ideas  upon  the  English  drama; 
and  yet,  in  that  airy  manner  of  his  with  which  he 
brushes  aside,  but  does  not  dispose  of,  real  prob- 
lems, he  nonchalantly  dubs  those  ideas  the  loose 
ends  of  rather  questionable  German  philosophy. 
There  seems  little  reason  to  doubt  that  Mr.  Archer 
was  quite  sincere  in  his  expressed  belief  that  Ber- 
nard Shaw's  philosophy  may  be  picked  up  at  any 
second-hand  bookstall.  Mr.  Huneker  is  by  no 
means  unique  in  the  opinion  that  Shaw's  dramatic 
characters  are  mere  mouthpieces  for  the  ideas  o 
Schopenhauer,  Nietzsche,  and  Ibsen. 

It  might  be  imagined  that  the  verdict  of  Conti 
nental  Europe,  where  so  many  of  the  most  modern 
conceptions,  most  vitally  fecund  ideas,  originate  and 
flourish,  would  carry  with  it  some  weight  of  au- 
thority. America  inaugurated  Shaw's  world-renown 
by  recognizing  in  him  a  brilliant  and  witty  person- 
age who  succeeded  in  entertaining  the  public  through 
the  adventitious  medium  of  the  stage.  It  was  not 
until  Shaw's  plays  swept  from  one  end  of  Europe  to 
the  other  that  Shaw  came  to  be  recognized  abroad 
as  a  man  of  ideas  rather  than  a  mere  "  theatre* 


I 


1 


BERNARD  SHAW  349 

poet " ;  indeed,  as  a  genius  of  penetrative  insight 
and  philosophic  depth.  Forced  by  the  example  of 
America  and  Europe  to  recognize  in  Shaw  a  dra- 
matist of  Continental  calibre  and  range,  England  at 
last  accorded  to  Shaw,  the  dramatist,  the  acknowledg- 
ment so  long  and  so  discreditably  overdue.  Never- 
theless, the  English  dramatic  critics  still  continued  to 
refer  Shaw's  philosophy  to  Schopenhauer,  Nietzsche, 
Ibsen,  and  Strindberg,  "  knowing  nothing  about 
them,"  as  Mr.  Shaw  once  remarked  to  me,  ^'  except 
that  their  opinions,  like  mine,  are  not  those  of  The 
Times  or  The  Spectator.*^ 

It  is  no  less  diverting  to  discover  in  European 
critics  an  equal  crassness  of  imagination  in  their 
judgments  of  Shaw's  temperament,  his  donnee,  and 
his  ausschauung.  AVhat  a  chimerical  picture  is  this 
painted  by  Regis  MIchaud:  "Feet  on  the  earth 
and  head  in  the  clouds,  surrendering  himself  to  the 
pleasure  of  discussing  the  most  poignant  problems, 
turning  them,  n9W  this  way,  now  that,  to  his  gaze; 
confounding  on  every  hand,  to  render  them  the 
more  interesting,  the  social  question  and  the  woman 
question;  then,  suddenly,  as  if  so  much  reality  bore 
heavily  upon  him,  after  having  given  in  his  revolu- 
tionary catechism  the  quintessence  of  his  paradoxes, 
free  of  all  system,  vanishing  into  Utopia  —  such  is 
Bernard  Shaw,  the  philosopher."  Whilst  acknowl- 
edging Shaw's  precious  gifts  —  his  facile,  natural  and 
brilliant  dialogue,  his  faculty  of  painting  human  fig- 


350  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

ures  in  which  observation  and  invention  collaborate 
in  equal  measure  —  Augustin  Filon  lamely  con- 
cludes :  "  Bernard  Shaw  would  be  a  great  dra- 
matic author,  perhaps,  if  only  his  plays  were  — 
plays!  "  lt-M2sAsitJoz^Mmxi^P^^MM^tA9  find  in 
Shaw^a  thoughtful  conservator  of  social  and  religious 
customV  and  to  pronounce  Candida  a.  ta.TdY,  but  bril- 
liant, revenge  of  the  traditional  ideal  on  the  new 
ideal  — "  the  victory  of  la  femme.  selon  Titien  over 
the  Scandinavian  virago,  this  triumph  of  Candida 
over  Nora  " !  Gaston  Rageot  makes  the  brilliant 
discovery  that  Shaw  functions  under  the  influence  of 
Tolstoi  —  Tolstoi  whose  pet  objurgation  is  the 
Superman  and  the  Gospel  of  Power !  The  German, 
Heinrich  Stiimcke,  declares  that  nil  admirari  is  the 
quintessence  of  Shaw  —  Shaw,  whose  life  is  spent  in 
ironic  laughter  of  colossal  wonderment  at  this  entire 
demented,  moonstTuclc' world !  Tke  Dane,  Georg 
Brandes,  made  the  curiously  provincial  mistake  of 
attributing  to  the  influence  of  Ibsen  the  social  discon- 
tent of  Bernard  Shaw  who  had  been  a  vigorous  So- 
cialist propagandist  for  five  years  before  he  ever 
heard  pi  Ibsen  I  Whilst  the  Italian,  Mario  Borsa, 
at  tTie  topmost  pitch  of  fatuity  finds  a  rationalist  pur 
et  simple  ill  Shaw  —  this  Shaw  who  persists  in  re- 
garding the  reign  of  reason  as  vieux  jeu,  and  has 
declared  again  and  again  that  man  will  always  re- 
main enslaved  so  long  as  he  listens  to  the  voice  of 
reason  I 


BERNARD  SHAW  351 

While  critics  here  and  critics  there  have  busied 
themselves,  either  in  discovering  in  Shaw  qualities 
he  scorns  to  possess  or  else  in  indulging  in  elaborate 
analyses  of  his  incidental  traits,  the  two  or  three 
signal  features  which  in  themselves  tend  to  explain 
his  temperament,  and  in  a  word  to  define  his  art,  re- 
main utterly  disengaged  and  obscure.  The  primp 
fjjct  jyhichstamps  Shaw^s^^rtinto  close  correspond- 
ence wit^llfe^is  the  fundamental  note  oi^dmUur 
sionment  which  iT^stTnckr-fear^assly  and  unf^^^^  1 

throughout  the  entire  range  of  his' wdi'Tc.  Just  as  all  f 
lifeTs  an  evolutionary  process,  and  all  progress  fol- 
lows vision  clarified  through  the  falling  of  the  scales 
from  the  eyes  of  the  brain,  so  Shaw's  drama  is  an 
ordered  sequence  of  pictured  incidents  in  which  pit- 
falls are  uncovered,  illusions  unmasked,  and  vital 
secrets  displayed.  A  profound  student  of  human 
existence  through  actual  contact  with  many  diverse 
forms  of  life  as  it  is  actually  lived  to-day,  and  a 
philosopher  as  well,  with  a  powerful  imaginative 
grasp  of  social  and  sociological  forms,  Shaw  sees 
that  progress  is  possible  only  through  the  persistent 
discovery  of  mistaken  conceptions  of  life  and  of  so- 
ciety. If,  as  philosophers  affirm,  error  is  only  im- 
perfect knowledge,  then  the  discovery  of  vital  truth 
eventuates  through  that  disillusioning  process  by 
which,  in  some  psychologically  crucial  instance  or 
dramatically  potent  conjuncture,  we  discover  that 
our  ideals,  our  conventions,  our  social  laws  and  our 


352         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

religious  conceptions  are  inadequate  either  to  meet 
the  facts  or  to  solve  the  problems  of  life.  Shaw  is 
so  deeply  impressed  with  the  predominance  of  hu- 
man activity  which  consists  in  the  pursuits  of  illu- 
sions that  he  does  not  hesitate  to  denominate  it  the 
greatest  force  in  the  world.  All  the  more  reason, 
then  —  since  the  majority  of  men  are  so  constituted 
that  reality  repels,  while  illusions  attract  them  — 
that  the  most  succinct,  most  crystalline,  most  ener- 
getic art  be  employed  in  combating  this  predominant 
and  pervasive  force.  It  is  not  against  the  optimistic 
and  progressive  illusions,  those  indispensable  modes 
of  cloaking  reality  which  possess  the  power  to  awake 
man's  helpful  interest  and  to  inspire  his  best  efforts, 
that  Shaw  directs  his  batteries  of  irony,  of  satire 
and  of  wit.  Dedicated  to  Socialism,  he  freely  ad- 
mits to  be  indispensable  the  transparent  illusion  of 
the  Socialist,  who  always  sees  Labor  as  a  martyr 
crucified  between  the  two  thieves  of  Capital,  and 
who  maintains  his  enthusiasm  at  fever-heat  by  the 
consciousness  that  the  laborer  is  always  a  model  of 
thrift  and  sobriety,  while  the  capitalist  is  a  tyrant, 
an  assassin,  and  a  scoundrel  I  Were  Sociali&na-^em- 
pelled  to  stand  or  fall  upon  the  strejagtK.ajid  sta- 
bility of  its  economic  structure  alone,  instead  ^T 
up^nTts  illusive  appeal  to  the  passion  of  humanity 
for,  a  cause,  with  the  concomitant  allurement  of 
impending  revolution,  its  fate  would  Indubitably  be 
sealed! 


BERNARD  SHAW  353 

i  It  IS  against  those  Individual  and  social  IllusIonsA 
treacherous,  ensnaring,  destructive  —  prejudices, 
conventions,  traditions,  theological  Incrustations,  so- 
cial petrifactions  —  that  Shaw  brings  to  bear  all  the 
force  of  his  trenchant  and  sagacious  Intellect. 
He  sees  the  Individual  involved  In  the  social  com- 
plex, and  powerless,  as  an  Individual,  to  remedy  his 
lot.  He  sees  In  money  the  basis  of  modern  society, 
and  attributes  the  slavery  of  the  workers  and  of  the 
women  to  the  omnipotence  of  capitalized  wealth. 
Modern  society  represents  that  phase  in  social  evo- 
lution which  history  will  classify  as  the  age  of  the 
exploitation  of  man  by  man.  Social  determinism 
Is  the  most  tragic  fact  of  contemporary  life;  and  In- 
dividual liberty.  In  most  cases,  amounts  to  little  more 
than  a  political  fiction.  Woman,  In  marriage.  Is  still 
the  slave  of  man;  and  romance  Is  only  the  pleasing 
illusion  which  masks  the  relentless  functioning  of 
the  Life  Force.  Laugh  as  sardonically  as  we  may, 
we  cannot  blink  the  fact  that  Trench  Is  powerless  to 
resist  the  Sartorlus  Idea,  that  Mrs.  Warren  Is  the 
victim  of  social  extremity  rather  than  the  Instrument 
of  sexual  passion,  that  Julia  Is  the  slave  of  a  social 
convention.  Barbara  refuses  longer  to  be  the  dupe  ^ 
of  subsidized  religion;  Tanner  Is  strong-minded 
enough  for  self-contempt  In  the  disillusioning  dis- 
covery of  that  "vital  lie,*'  romance;  and  Candida 
clarifies  the  preference  of  "  natural  Instinct "  to 
"  duty  "  as  a  guide  to  conduct.     Shaw's  characters, 


354         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

/whether  Involved  in  social  labyrinths  or  confused  by 
conventional  dogmas,  break  through  to  the  light  by 
discovering  their  false  allegiance  to  some  stupid  cur- 
rent fiction  or  some  baseless  fabric  of  cheap  ro- 
mance. Gloria's  armor  of  "  Twentieth  Century 
Education  "  crumples  up  before  the  simple  attacks 
of  natural  impulse;  Judith  Anderson's  larmoya.nt 
sentiment  is  dashed  by  the  Nietzschean  frankness  of 
Dick  Dudgeon;  and  Brassbound  recoils  from  him- 
self in  disgust  in  the  realization  of  the  romantic 
puerility  of  his  twopence  colored  ideas  of  revenge. 
Shaw  has  freed  himself  from  the  illusions  of  pa- 
triotism and  fidelity  to  English  social  forms;  and 
he  boasts  that  he  is  a  **  good  European "  in  the 
Nietzschean  sense  —  the  true  cosmopolitan  in  ideas. 
Like  Maurice  Barres  and  Max  Stirner,  he  is  a  fear- 
less champion  of  the  Ego;  and  hi^s.  realism^  that 
of  Ibsen  and  of  Stendhal,  is  the  realism  of  the  disil- 

4usionist. 

It  is  the  custom  of  those  who  disagree  with  Shaw 
to  point  out  that  his  brilliant  and  logical  demonstra- 
tions of  abuses  and  Illusions,  if  traced  back  step  by 
step  to  their  origin,  will  bring  us  merely  to  some 
perverse  Idiosyncrasy  of  this  wayward  Irishman. 
In  short,  as  Mr.  Walkley  Is  only  too  ready  to  indi- 
cate, Shaw  is  a  pure  naif,  falling  into  line  with  the 
more  engaging  naifs  of  imaginative  literature.  "  He 
is  as  naturally  benevolent  as  Mr.  Pickwick,  and  as 
explosively  Indignant  in  what  he  considers  a  just 


BERNARD  SHAW  355 

cause  as  Colonel  Newcome.  With  Uncle  Toby  he 
conducts  a  whole  plan  of  campaign  on  a  quiet 
bowling  green,  and  with  Don  Quixote  tilts  at  wind- 
mills. He  is  as  disputatious  (though  not  so  learned) 
as  the  Abbe  Colgnard,  and  when  in  the  vein  can 
borrow  the  philosophic  ataraxy  of  Professor  Ber- 
geret"  This  method  of  disposing  of  Shaw  on  the 
ground  that  he  is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  pas- 
sionately but  perversely  championing  futile  causes 
which  he  mistakenly  regards  as  just  and  right,  has 
all  the  virtue  of  cleverness  without  the  necessary 
modicum  of  accuracy.  The  solid  achievements  of 
Shaw's  own  career  are  the  silent  refutation  of  the 
hons  mots  of  the  dilettante;  and  his  international 
fame  rests.  In  chief  measure,  upon  his  generally  rec- 
ognized power  to  exhibit  facts  in  all  their  stark 
reality.  The  remarkable  unity  of  his  ideas  despite 
their  superficial  aspect  of  contrariety,  his  Inevitable 
trait  of  applying  the  standard  of  his  well-defined 
philosophy  to  all  facts,  stamp  him  as  a  genuine  phil- 
osopher, concerned  with  the  unities  of  the  world 
rather  than  with  its  diversities.  Our  greatest 
i\merlcan  philosopher,  William  James,  once  said  to 
me:  "To  me,  Shaw's  great  service  is  the  way  he 
brings  home  to  the  eyes,  as  It  were,  the  difference^ 
l^etween  '  convention  '  and  *  conscience,'  and  the  way 
he  shows  that  you  can  tell  the  truth  successfully  if 
you  will  only  keep  benignant  enough  while  doing  it." 
If  it  be  true  that  Shaw  appears  essentially  simple  and 


N 


3S6  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

serious  In  mind  and  character,  it  is  because,  as  Jean 
Blum  has  acutely  pointed  out,  he  has  succeeded  in 
freeing  his  mind  from  all  contemporary  prejudice, 
has  acquired  the  illimitable  receptivity  of  the  child, 
and  has  effected  the  transition  to  that  second  state 
of  innocence  out  of  which  proceed  real  art  and  sim- 
ple truth.  It  is  in  this  sense,  Indeed,  that  Shaw  Is  a 
genuine  naif.  Just  as  disillusionment  is  the  defining 
quality  of  his  art,  naivete  is  the  defining  quality  of 
his  fiemperament.  Far  be  it  from  me,  who  have 
revelled  In  many  a  quaint  recital  from  his  lips,  to 
deny  his  oddity,  his  idiosyncrasy,  his  naive  charm. 
Nor  would  I  even  balk  at  the  statement  that  he  loves, 
for  the  sake  of  staggering  his  auditor,  to  proceed 
logically  to  a  conclusion  from  a  highly  questionable 
premise.  This  is  a  quality  of  all  highly  imaginative 
temperaments;  and  In  Shaw's  case,  is  thrown  Into 
high  relief  by  the  brilliance  and  facility  of  his  logical 
process.  It  Is  a  casual  fault,  not  a  defining  quality, 
of  his  art;  and  at  the  same  time  constitutes  one  of 
the  very  real  charms  of  his  personality.  Someone 
has  denominated  Shaw  a  literary  Peter  Ban  —  a  boy 
who  has  never  grown  up  In  literature.  This  Is  a 
peculiarly  pertinent  characterization  of  one  who  finds 
an  "  indescribable  levity  —  something  sprltelike  — ■ 
about  the  final  truth  of  the  matter  ";  and  who  once 
said:  "It  Is  the  half-truth  which  Is  congruous, 
heavy,  serious,  and  suggestive  of  a  middle-aged  or 
elderly  philosopher.     The  whole  truth  Is  often  the 


BERNARD  SHAW  357 

first  thing  that  comes  into  the  head  of  a  fool  or  a 
child;  and  when  a  wise  man  forces  his  way  to  it 
through  the  many  strata  of  his  sophistications,  its 
wanton,  perverse  air  reassures  Instead  of  frighten- 
ing him."  Shaw  is  a  literary  Peter  Pan;  and  he 
takes  the  characterization  as  a  very  great  compli- 
ment. **  There  was  a  time,"  Shaw  once  said, 
"  when  I  was  a  grown-up  man  —  more  grown-up 
than  anybody  else.  I  was  about  eighteen  at  the 
time."  But  he  added :  "  It  was  not  until  I  be- 
came like  Peter  Pan  that  I  was  really  worth  any- 
thing." 

Bernard  Shaw  is  primarily,  as  I  have  pointed  • 
out,  a  disillusionizing  force,  achieving  his  purpose 
in  great  measure  through  the  re-discovery  of  that 
state  of  incarnate  innocence  from  which  stem  great 
works  of  art.  Moreover,  he  frankly  claims  the 
theatre,  as  Zola  claimed  the  novel,  for  didactic  pur- 
poses; and  makes  so  bold  as  to  declare  that  the 
man  who  believes  in  art  for  art's  sake  is  "  a  fool,  a 
hopeless  fool,  and  In  a  state  of  damnation."  In  his 
conception,  ajt  should  be  employed  for  social,  po- 
litical^fnoral  and  religious  ends.  Art  is  one  of  the 
greatest  instrumentalities  in  the  world  for  teaching 
people  to  see  and  hear  properly.  "  When  I  write 
dramas,"  Shaw  recently  confessed,  "  what  I  really 
do  is  to  take  the  events  of  life  out  of  the  Irrelevant,  \ 
and  show  them  In  their  spiritual  and  actual  relation 
to  each  other.     I  have  to  connect  them  by  chains  of 


358  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

reasoning,  and  to  make  bridges  of  feeling."  When 
M.  Charles  Chasse  complained  that  Shaw's  ideas 
were  so  contradictory  that  he  could  construct  no  sat- 
isfactory synthesis  of  his  philosophy,  Shaw  replied: 
"  How  French  to  wish  to  stick  everything  into 
pigeonholes !  You  find  contradictions  in  my  philos- 
ophy? Very  well  —  are  there  not  contradictions  in 
life?  I  have  expressed  my  ideas  in  groups  on  cer- 
tain subjects  in  my  different  works.  Ask  no  more 
of  me."  M.  Firmin  Roz  recently  declared  that 
Shaw  has  ideas,  but  that  he  does  not  let  them  harden 
and  crystallize  into  a  system:  '*  II  les  jette  dans  la 
vie  ou  elles  doivent  vivre  elles-memes  comme  des 
ferments  actifs."  The  apparent  contrariety  of  ideas 
in  Shaw's  works  is  one  of  the  elements  that  tend, 
not  only  to  prevent  comprehension  of  his  purpose, 
but  even  to  prompt  suspicion  of  the  seriousness  _af 
his  purpose.  The  other  element  springs  from  the 
popular  notion  that  wit  and  seriousness  are  two  mu- 
tually contradictory  entities.  The  really  inspired 
man,  in  Shaw's  opinion,  is  the  man  who  brings  you 
to  see  that  there  are  certain  delusions  you  must  sur- 
render; that  there  are  certain  steps  forward  that 
must  be  taken.  Progress  involves  not  only  the  sac- 
rifice of  certain  obligations,  but  also  the  assumption 
of  other  obligations.  But  let  the  serious  reformer 
dare  to  express  his  ideas  in  witty  and  paradoxical 
form,  and  he  must  answer  the  charge,  not  simply  of 
being  disagreeable,  but  also  of  being  frivolous.     The 


BERNARD  SHAW  359 

Anglo-Saxon,  as  M.  Auguste  Hamon  maintains,  is 
racially  incapable  of  intellectual  virtuosity;  and  so 
is  "  unable  to  understand  the  finesse  and  the  height 
of  view  of  an  ironical  tale  of  Voltaire,  a  philosophic 
drama  by  Rena.i,  or  a  novel  by  Anatole  France." 
Had  Shaw  not  given  the  pill  of  the  "  paper-apostle  '* 
in  the  jam  of  the  "  artist-magician,"  perhaps  the 
public  would  not  have  endorsed  his  message.  Shaw 
has  always  maintained  that  if  he  had  told  the  Eng- 
lish people  the  plain  truth,  unvarnished  and  un-  / 
adorned,  he  would  have  been  burned  at  the  stake!  • 
All  the  more  reason,  then,  for  prizing  the  witj^thie 
humoTiJJie  fancy,  the  epigram,  the  paradox,  of  this 
intellectual  virtuoso.  Stevenson  says  somewhere: 
"  No  art,  it  may  be  said,  was  ever  perfect  and  not 
many  noble,  that  has  not  been  mirthfully  conceived.'l 
Bernard  Shaw  is  the  most  versatile  and  cosmopol- 
itan genius  in  the  drama  of  ideas  that  Great  Britain 
has  yet  produced.  No  juster  or  more  significant 
characterization  can  be  made  of  this  man  than  that 
he  is  a  penetrating  and  astute  critic  of  contemporary 
civilization.  He  is  typical  of  this  disquieting  cen- 
tury —  with  its  intellectual  brilliancy,  its  staggering 
naTvete,  its  ironic  nonsense,  its  devouring  scepticism, 
its  profound  social  and  religious  unrest.  The  re- 
lentless thinking,  the  large  perception  of  the  comic 
which  stamp  this  man,  are  interpenetrated  with  the 
ironic  consciousness  of  the  twentieth  century.  The 
note  of  his  art  is  capitally  moralistic;  and  he  tern- 


A 


360         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

pers  the  bitterness  of _the  disillusionl  dose  with  the 
effervescent  appetizer  of  his  brilliant  wit.  His  phi- 
losophy is  the  consistent  integration  of  his  empirical 
criticisms  of  modern  society  and  its  present  or- 
ganization, founded  on  authority  and  based  upon 
capitalism.  A  true  mystic,  he  sees  in  life,  not  the 
fulfilment  of  moral  laws,  or  the  verification  of  the 
deductions  of  reason,  but  the  satisfaction  of  a  pas- 
felon  In  us  of  which  we  can  give  no  account. 

Evolution,  In  Shaw's  view,  is  not  a  materialistic, 
ut  a  mystical  theory;  and,  after  Lamarck  and 
Samuel  Butler,  he  understands  evolution,  not  as  the 
senseless  raging  of  blind  mechanical  forces  with  an 
amazing  simulation  of  design,  but  as  the  struggle 
of  a  creative  Will  or  Purpose,  which  he  calls  the 
Life  Force,  towards  higher  forms  of  life.  Social- 
ism is  the  alpha  and  omega  of  his  life.  He  believes 
in  will,  engineered  by  reason,  because  he  sees  in  it 
the  only  real  instrument  for  the  achievement  of  So- 
cialism. Like  all  pioneers  in  search  of  an  El 
Dorado,  he  has  found  something  quite  different  from 
the  original  object  in  mind.  Indeed,  in  his  search 
for  freedom  of  will,  he  has  really  succeeded  In  dis- 
covering three  checks  and  limitations  to  Its  opera- 
tion; and  he  has  long  since  abandoned  the  paradox 
of  free  will.  For  he  has  discovered,  as  first  limi- 
tation, the  iron  law  of  personal  responsibility  to  be 
the  alternative  to  the  golden  rule  of  personal  con- 
duct.    Second,  the  desirability  of  the  sacrifice  of  the 


BERNARD  SHAW  361 

individual  will  to  the  realization  of  the  general 
good  of  society  through  the  progressive  evolution 
of  the  race.  And  third,  the  personal,  tempera- 
mental restriction  which  forbids  him  to  accept  any- 
thing as  true,  to  take  any  action,  to  allow  any  free 
play  to  his  will  which  would  seriously  militate 
against  the  progressive  advance  of  collectivism.  He 
has  achieved  the  remarkable  distinction  of  embrac- 
ing collectivism  without  sacrificing  individualism,  of 
preaching  Intellectual  anarchy  without  Ignoring  the 
claims  of  the  Collective  Ego.  f 

In  Bernard  Shaw  rages  the  daemonic,  half-insen- 
sate intuition  of  a  Blake,  with  his  seer's  faculty  for 
Inverted  truism ;  while  the  close,  detective  cleverness 
of  his  Ironic  paradoxes  demonstrates  him  to  be  a 
Becque  upon  whom  has  fallen  the  mantle  of  a  Gil- 
bert. In  the  limning  of  character,  the  mordantly 
revelative  ^-strokes  of  a  Hogarth  prove  him  to  be  a 
realist  of  satiric  portraiture.  The  enticingly  auda- 
cious Insouciance  of  a  Wilde,  with  his  nonchalant 
wit  and  easy  epigram,  is  united  with  the  exquisite 
effrontery  of  a  Whistler,  with  his  devastating  jeux 
d'esprit  and  the  ridentem  dicere  verum.  If  Shaw 
is  a  Celtic  Moliere  de  nos  jours,  it  Is  a  Mollere  in 
whom  comedy  stems  from  the  individual  and  tragedy 
from  society.  If  Shaw  is  the  Irish  Ibsen,  It  is  a 
laughing  Ibsen  —  looking  out  upon  a  half-mad 
world  with  the  riant  eyes  of  a  Heine,  a  Chamfort, 
or  a  Sheridan. 


GRANVILLE  BARKER 


I 


GRANVILLE  BARKER 

Many  years  ago,  Matthew  Arnold  pleaded  for 
the  organization  of  the  theatre  in  England  —  the 
irresistible  theatre,  as  he  so  optimistically  called 
it.  For  the  past  twenty  years,  tentative  and  grop- 
ing steps,  now  this  way,  now  that,  have  been  di- 
rected towards  this  visionary  goal.  England  may 
be  the  most  conservative  country  in  the  world. 
Englishmen  may  be  proud  of  their  ability  to  "  mud- 
dle through  somehow.''  Once  let  a  great  creative 
and  basically  fruitful  conception  take  shape  in  their 
minds,  and  then  their  perseverance  and  dogged  de- 
termination brook  no  obstacle  until  their  object  is 
fully  attained.  By  the  year  191 6  we  may  expect  the 
beginning,  at  least,  of  the  consummation  of  that 
great  project  for  a  national  theatre,  in  commemora- 
tion of  William  Shakspere,  which  will  place  Great 
Britain  abreast  of  the  great  nations  of  the  world  in 
the  domain  of  the  theatre.  If  the  patient,  arduous 
and  unremitting  efforts  of  the  adherents  and  sup- 
porters of  the  drama,  in  its  highest  and  most  original 
forms,  are  taken  as  criteria,  we  may  confidently  look 
forward  to  a  not  distant  future  when  the  repertory 
idea  shall  have  found  realization  in  stable  practice, 

36s 


366  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

when  the  brilliant  and  original  efforts  of  the  drama- 
tists of  the  new  school  shall  have  won  the  permanent 
support  of  the  British  public. 

Whenever  a  creative  movement,  In  no  matter  what 
field  of  human  activity,  is  forward,  and  is  tri- 
umphantly hailed  as  ''  new,"  the  public  is  inclined 
to  regard  It  with  a  certain  amount  of  reserve,  if 
not  with  suspicion  and  distrust.  And  when,  besides, 
this  "  new "  movement  comes  into  existence  as  a 
form  of  revolt  against  existent  conditions,  the  public 
is  all  the  more  inclined  to  say :  *'  All  right.  Go 
ahead.  But  you  must  meet  the  tests  of  the  com- 
mercial theatre.  You  must  create  your  public,  or  at 
least  show  that  there  is  a  submerged  public  ready 
to  support  you.  Make  good  If  you  can.  But  don't 
expect  to  achieve  permanent  results  by  counting 
solely  on  popular  sympathy." 

The  New  Drama  In  England  to-day,  with  Ber- 
nard Shaw  and  Granville  Barker  as  Its  leading  ex- 
ponents. Is  essentially  an  experimental  school. 
From  the  beginning,  every  effort  has  pointed  toward 
fresh  extensions  of  sense  in  the  field  of  the  drama. 
Freedom  for  the  exercise  of  dramatic  talents  is 
posited  as  the  fundamental  pre-requisite  for  the 
healthy  development  of  the  drama.  The  exponents 
of  the  new  school  have  sought  above  all  things  to 
free  themselves  from  the  confining  restrictions  of  the 
drama,  and  to  express  themselves  unreservedly  —  in 
idea.  In  form  —  regardless  of  whether  the  result 


^ 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  367 

seemed  "  dramatic  "  or  not.  These  ideals  brought 
them  into  conflict  —  an  irrepressible  conflict  —  with 
two  established  traditions  —  the  commercial  theatre, 
and  the  censorship.  From  the  first,  it  was  apparent 
that  the  long-run  system  of  the  commercial  theatre 
was  fatal  to  the  chances  of  the  new  dramatist.  His 
public  was  destined  to  be,  not  the  **  great  public,'* 
but  a  ''  lesser  public,'*  in  part  composed  of  intelli- 
gent theatre-goers,  in  part  of  people  who  have  ceased 
to  encourage  the  banalities  and  falsities  of  the 
theatre  of  commerce,  in  part  of  a  new  quota  of  the 
human  throng.  Moreover,  it  soon  became  appar- 
ent that  if  the  drama  was  to  flourish,  if  new  talent 
was  to  burgeon  and  blossom,  if  the  path  was  to  be 
made  clear  for  the  experimentalist,  the  first  and 
most  imperative  necessity  was  the  abolition,  or  at 
least  radical  modification,  of  the  censorship.  Not 
less  essential  —  for  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  mere 
institutional  bars  —  was  the  desire  to  create,  not 
simply  strikingly  new  modes  of  stage  entertainment, 
but  works  of  art  that  would  bear  the  test  of  publica- 
tion. There  was  the  thrust  toward  utter  realism 
—  the  ambition  to  create  a  drama  that  would  wear 
the  drab,  as  well  as  the  brilliant  garments  of  life 
itself. 

It  was  Bernard  Shaw  who  initiated  the  New 
Drama  twenty  years  ago  with  Widowers^  Houses. 
The  Independent  Theatre,  inaugurated  by  Mr.  J.  T. 
Grcin,  failed  in  its  effort,  as  did  the  New  Century 


368  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Theatre,  to  bring  to  the  fore  a  group  of  budding 
dramatists.  But  it  was  the  immediate  cause  of  en- 
ticing Bernard  Shaw  into  the  field  of  dramatic  au- 
thorship. Mr.  Grein  demanded  evidence  of  the 
latent  dramatic  talent  in  England  which  only  needed 
the  offer  of  a  field  for  its  display.  Shaw  claimed  to 
have  manufactured  the  evidence;  and  that  claim 
has  been  made  good  in  the  great  capitals,  and  on 
the  great  stages,  of  the  world.  In  The  Author's 
Apology,  prefixed  to  the  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Es- 
says (English  Edition),  Shaw  especially  insists  that 
those  dramatic  criticisms  were  "  not  a  series  of 
judgments  aiming  at  impartiality,  but  a  siege  laid 
to  the  theatre  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  by  an  au- 
thor who  had  to  make  his  own  way  into  it  at  the 
point  of  the  pen,  and  throw  some  of  its  defenders 
into  the  moat."  Shaw  was  accused  of  unfairness 
and  Intolerance  as  a  critic  of  the  drama,  of  the  intent 
to  stifle  native  dramatic  talent  with  forcible  con- 
demnation. When  Shaw  vigorously  charged  PInero, 
Jones  and  others  with  failure,  he  was  simply  charg- 
ing them  with  failure  to  come  his  way  and  do  what 
he  wanted.  "  I  postulated  as  desirable  a  certain 
kind  of  play  In  which  I  was  destined  ten  years  later 
to  make  my  mark  as  a  playwright  (as  I  very  well 
foreknew  In  the  depth  of  my  own  unconsciousness)  ; 
and  I  brought  everybody,  authors,  actors,  managers, 
to  the  one  test:  were  they  coming  my  own  way  or 
staying  in  the  old  grooves?  ''     He  baldly  attempted 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  369 

"  the  institution  of  a  new  art,"  in  which  the  dra- 
matist could  give  the  freest  play  to  his  own  original- 
ity; and  foresaw  as  result  a  new  and  hybrid  drama 
—  part  narrative,  part  homily,  part  description, 
part  dialogue,  and  part  drama  (in  the  conventional 
sense).  In  the  days  that  have  followed  such  pro- 
nouncement the  English  stage  has  been  enriched  by 
such  original,  such  powerful,  such  unique  plays  as 
Major  Barbara,  Getting  Married,  The  Foysey  In- 
heritance, and  The  Madras  House  —  hybrids  all 
perhaps,  analytical  and  dialectical,  strained  and  in 
some  cases  repellant  —  but  marked  by  a  mysterious 
novelty,  the  sign  manual  of  genius. 

The  next  significant  step  In  the  slow  glacier-like 
movement  toward  the  creation  of  a  native  drama  of 
spontaneous  art  and  the  establishment  of  a  national 
theatre  that  would  worthily  represent  the  national 
genius,  is  found  in  the  establishment  of  the  Stage 
Society,  of  London.  At  first  its  ambition  was  the 
very  modest  one  of  giving  private  performances, 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  in  studios  and  such  other 
places  as  might  prove  available.  The  scheme  found 
enthusiastic  supported  among  people  of  rather  aim- 
less intellectual  tastes,  who  eagerly  sought  in  the 
performace  of  the  Stage  Society  a  "  refuge  from  the 
dulness  of  the  English  Sunday.''  As  the  society 
grew  in  strength  and  numbers,  the  performances 
came  to  be  given  in  theatres  —  permissible  when  no 
admission    fee   was   charged.     After   a   time,   the 


370  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Sunday  performance  was  generally  followed  by  an- 
other performance  on  Monday  afternoon.  The 
Stage  Society  thus  became  the  logical  successor  of 
the  Independent  Theatre,  founded  some  ten  years 
before;  and  while  it  has  always  remained  a  theatre 
a  cote,  the  importance  of  Its  work  In  fostering  latent 
dramatic  genius  cannot  be  too  strongly  emphasized. 
It  was  founded  In  1899,  and  during  thirteen 
seasons  (to  191 1)  produced  forty-six  English 
plays,  and  twenty-odd  plays  by  continental  dram- 
atists. With  seven  exceptions,  these  plays  were 
produced  by  the  society  for  the  first  time  on  the 
English  stage.  In  its  very  first  season  It  produced 
Bernard  Shaw's  You  Never  Can  Tell  and  Candida, 
Maeterlinck's  Interieiir  and  La  Mort  de  Tintagiles, 
Hauptmann's  Das  Friedensfest  and  Henrik  Ibsen's 
The  League  of  Youth,  In  Its  second  season  It  pro- 
duced Shaw's  Captain  Brassbound's  Conversion, 
Hauptmann's  Einsame  Menschen,  and  Ibsen's  The 
Pillars  of  Society.  In  its  third  season  were  pro- 
duced The  Lady  from  the  Sea,  and  The  Marrying 
of  Anne  Leete,  the  latter  a  remarkable  play  by  a  new 
dramatic  author,  H.  Granville  Barker.  It  Is  need- 
less to  enumerate  the  great  modern  dramas,  chiefly 
drama.S-u£jiifiiight  and  of  purpo^se,  which  have  been 
produced  by  the  Stage  Society  during  the  remaining 
years  up  to  to-day.  Suffice  It  to  say  that  the  Stage 
Society  has  played  in  England,  though  In  a  somewhat 
less  conspicuous  way,  the  role  which  has  been  played 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  371 

on  the  continent  by  the  Theatr^Libre,  L'CJjgrc, 
and    the    Frele    Biihne.     From    it    came    Bern^rcf^*"^'' 
Shaw  —  and  Granville  Barker  —  soon  to  be  united 
in  an  enterprise  at  the  Court  Theatre  which  is  with- 
out a  parallel  In  the  history  of  the  Engllshjtage^ 
From  that  fecuiidTschool  of  drama  came  also  the  late. 
StJbha_Jiay[ikIn,  a  dramatist  of  rare  promise,  and 
Mr.  John  Galsworthy,  the  author  of  the  original 
and  powerful  dramas,  Strife  and  Justice, 

The  Repertory  Theatre  idea  has  gained  a  firm 
footing  in  England;  and  to-day  bids  fair  to  go  for-  . 
ward  slowly  to   a   more  permanent   and   enduring 
establishment.     In    1898    was    founded    the    Irish 
Literary  Theatre,   under  the  auspices  of  the  Na- 
tional  Literary   Society,    founded  by   Mr.   W.   B. 
Yeats  seven  years  before.     That  energetic  woman 
who  played  the  mysterious  **  angel "  to  the  Avenue 
Theatre  production  of  Shaw's  Arms  and  the  Man 
in   1894,  Miss  A.  E.  F.  Horniman,  may  fitly  be 
described  as  the  mother  of  repertory  in  England. 
Largely  through  her  efforts  has  come  into  being  the 
Abbey  Theatre,  the  repertory  theatre  of  Ireland  — 
the  only  theatre  in  an  English-speaking  country,  said 
Mr.  W.  B.  Yeats  in  1908,  '*  that  is  free  for  a  cer- 
tain number  of  years  to  play  what  it  thfnks  worth 
playing,  and  to  whistle  at  the  timid."     The  experi-  f 
ment  of  Mr.  Shaw  and  Mr.  Barker  at  the  Court/ 
Theatre,  of  which  I  shall  speak  later,  showed  the/ 
way  to  the  true  repertory,  of  which  it  was,  techJ 


372         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

nically,  not  a  perfect  example.  At  Manchester  in 
1907,  the  first  true  repertory  theatre  In  Great 
Britain  was  established  by  Miss  Hornlman.  The 
experimental  theatres  at  Stockport,  Glasgow,  Edin- 
burgh and  Liverpool  are  all  healthy  manifestations 
of  the  new  movement  towards  Citizens'  Theatres  on 
repertory  lines  In  modified  forms.  Mr.  Charles 
Frohman's  season  of  repertory  at  the  Duke  of 
York's  Theatre  (1909-19 10),  London,  is  the  first 
sign,  though  of  doubtful  success,  of  the  effort  to 
plumb  the  commercial  possibilities  of  the  repertory 
system.  In  his  recent  book  on  the  Repertory  The- 
atre, Mr.  P.  P.  Howe  says  of  Mr.  Frohman's  some- 
what Inconclusive  experiment: 

"  It  Is  a  step  on  the  road.  The  seemly  and  re- 
quisite thing  for  the  State  to  do  Is  to  elevate  the 
drama  above  the  chances  of  commerce,  as  Smollett 
in  common  with  most  thinking  persons  saw  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  ago,  as  nearly  every  European  coun- 
try has  already  done,  and  as  this  country  will 
do  in  something  much  less  than  a  century  and 
a  half.  But  the  business  of  a  National  Theatre 
is  primarily  with  the  classical  repertory  of  plays. 
Mr.  Frohman's  theatre,  pointing  as  it  does  to  en- 
dowment, points  equally  clearly  along  the  line  of 
individual  experiment,  which  will  always  be  the  path 
of  the  advancing  drama.  The  next  step  on  this 
road  is  clear.  A  theatre  combining  convenience  of 
site  with  a  rent  only  moderately  extortionate,  fore- 


4 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  373 

going  the  unnecessary  complication  of  expensive 
stars,  and  keeping  a  clear  eye  on  the  public  it  would 
serve  may  be  set  going  In  London  to-morrow  with 
satisfactory  pecuniary  profit.  A  certain  definite 
public  Is  now  made  familiar  with  the  repertory  idea, 
and  to  convert  this  public  Into  a  large,  convinced,  and 
permanent  public  for  good  drama  Is  a  mere  matter 
of  persistence.  .  .'.  The  good  play-goer  will  be 
created  by  good  drama,  but  It  Is  not  to  be  forgotten 
that  the  good  play-goer  also  exists  and  Is  awaiting  a 
theatre  worth  his  while."  — \ 

The  crown  of  the  Stage  SocIety^s  achlevement^^s  t-Jwu 
Mr.  William  Archer  once  expressed  it,  was  the  ' 
presentation  of  Mr.  H.  Granville  Barker  to  the 
world  of  dramatic  art  in  England.  Much  has  been 
written  about  Mr.  Shaw,  his  genius,  career,  and  in- 
fluence upon  contemporary  drama.  Little  enough, 
strange  to  say,  has  been  written  about  Mr.  Barker, 
with  his  strange,  austere  talent,  his  anti-sentimental 
and  chiselled  art,  his  complicated  simplicity  in  tech.- 
nlque,  his  almost  fierce  contempt  for  the  normal 
relations  of  average,  everyday  life.  A  few  people 
nowadays  are  beginning  eagerly  to  claim  him  as 
the  one  true  dramatist  —  and  English  withal  —  of 
the  movement.  Though  born  (1877)  In  Kensing- 
ton, the  curiously  complex  strains  in  his  ancestry  are 
almost  everything  racial  but  English:  Scotch,  Welsh, 
Italian,  Portuguese,  and  even  a  trace,  perhaps,  of  the 
Jew. 


374  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

/Almost  from  birth  he  seemed  destined  for  the 
theatre.  As  Shaw  learned  from  his  mother,  a  well- 
known  singer,  the  secrets  of  enunciation  which  so 
greatly  aided  him  later  as  a  platform  speaker,  so 
Barker  learned  from  his  mother,  a  well-known  re- ■[ 
.  citer,  the  art  of  speaking  and  reciting.  At  seven, 
he  was  already  proficient  In  expression;  and  at  the 
age  of  thirteen,  though  callow  In  the  extreme,  he 
was  shot  Into  the  theatre  —  to  hit  or  miss  as  fate, 
or  his  own  genius,  might  decree.  His  education,  in 
the  conventional  sense,  then  abruptly  ceased  and  to 
this  circumstance  perhaps  Is  due  his  Intolerance  of 
,  the  academic,  and  his  conviction  that  the  only  great 
-^school  of  art  Is  life.  He  served  a  rather  severe  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  stage  between  his  thirteenth  and 
his  seventeenth  years ;  but  he  was  not  to  attract  public 
notice  until  several  years  later.  Then  he  came  Into 
prominence  in  connection  with  the  Stage  Society  — 
as  actor,  as  producer,  and  as  author.  His  own  play. 
The  Marrying  of  Ann  Leete,  which  he  produced, 
awoke  the  thoughtful  attention  and  appreciative 
criticism  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Shaw,  Mr.  William 
Archer,  and  Mr.  Arthur  Symons.  In  Shawns  Can- 
dida he  achieved  a  memorable  effect  In  the  part  of 
Marchbanks;  his  Impersonation  of  Richard  II  at 
an  Elizabethan  Stage  Society  performance  helped 
also  to  mark  him  out  as  a  brilliant  actor.  Much 
might  be  written  about  his  art  as  an  actor;  for  It 
is  Impossible  to  say  how  much  his  art  as  a  dramatist 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  375 

owes  to  his  skill  as  a  player.  It  was  In  1904  that 
Mr.  Barker  first  came  Into  association  with  the  Court 
Theatre.  Mr.  J.  H.  Leigh,  with  Mr.  J.  E. 
Vedrenne  as  manager,  was  giving  a  series  of  credita- 
ble Shaksperean  revivals  at  the  Court  Theatre 
and  he  Invited  Mr.  Barker  to  produce  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona,  This  production,  in  which 
Mr.  Barker  played  the  part  of  Launce,  was  a 
marked  success ;  and  the  first  result  of  his  association 
with  Mr.  Vedrenne  was  a  series  of  six  matinee  per- 
formances of  Candida,  The  final  outcome  was  the 
Vedrenne-Barker  management  of  the  Court  Theatre 
from  1904  to  1907. 

Throughout  this  time,  Mr.  Barker  took  a  leading 
part  In  a  number  of  the  plays  which  he  produced; 
and  this  he  continued  to  do  in  the  subsequent  pro- 
ductions at  the  Savoy  Theatre.  In  1904,  Mr. 
Barker  had  produced  for  the  New  Century  Theatre, 
under  Mr.  Vedrenne's  management.  Professor  Gil- 
bert Murray's  ^'  spiritual  "  translation  of  the  Hip- 
poly  tus  of  Euripides;  and  it  was  partly  their  asso- 
ciation In  this  successful  experiment  that  led  to  the 
Court  Theatre  enterprise.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  "  new  "  drama,  Mr.  Barker  would  probably,  as 
he  once  told  me,  have  left  the  stage  entirely  — 
though  he  felt  a  strong  sense  of  mastery  in  Shak- 
sperean parts.  His  performances  in  his  own  and 
Shaw's  plays,  notably  In  Waste,  Man  and  Superman, 
and  The  DeviVs  Disciple,  were  regarded  as  triumphs 


376  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

in  the  new  style  of  acting.  Had  there  been  reper- 
tory in  England,  he  would  doubtless  have  remained 
on  the  stage.  Despite  the  fact  that  he  is  ac- 
casionally  seen  on  the  boards,  he  has  definitely 
abandoned  the  actor's  career.  His  talent  finds 
scope  for  display  in  two  directions,  stage-manage- 
ment and  dramatic  authorship.  The  close  of  the 
Vedrenne-Barker  season  at  the  Savoy  marked  his 
definite  severance  from  the  stage  as  an  actor,  al- 
though he  has  often  won  success  on  the  boards  since 
that  time.  During  recent  years  he  has  devoted  his 
best  talents  to  theatre-management. 

To  show  the  regard  in  which  his  work  as  an 
actor  was  held,  I  need  only  cite  the  words  of  the 
Spectator  which  appeared  at  the  time  of  his  "  retire- 
ment "  from  the  stage.  The  writer  recognized  Mr. 
Barker  not  alone  as  an  alert  and  subtle  interpreter  of 
character,  a  master  in  the  art  of  suggestion,  an  in- 
tellectual actor  dominating  his  audience  by  skill 
rather  than  by  force.  "  One  of  the  principal 
causes  of  his  artistic  success  is  that  he  can  mingle 
intellect  with  fancy,  and  his  acting  is  often  at  its 
sprightliest  when  it  is  most  significant.  He  pos- 
sesses in  a  high  degree  the  indefinable  quality  of 
charm  —  a  quality  which  he  displays  at  its  fullest 
perhaps  in  his  rendering  of  Valentine  in  You  Never 
Can  Tell,  and  in  the  delightful  third  act  of  The 
Doctor^s  Dilemma.  More  than  any  other  English 
actor,  he  can  *  put  the  spirit  of  youth  into  every- 


1 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  377 

thing,'  so  that  the  whole  scene  becomes  charged  with 
high  spirits  —  with  Mr.  Barker  the  art  and  in- 
genuity are  there,  but  they  are  softened  and  ethereal- 
ized  by  a  perpetual  flow  of  English  humour  and 
English  imagination." 

Of  that  remarkable  experiment  at  the  Court  Thea- 
tre, I  would  refer  the  reader  in  especial  to  its  re- 
corded history  written  by  Mr.  Desmond  MacCarthy. 
The  companies  trained  by  Mr.  Barker,  both  at 
the  Court  Theatre  and,  subsequently,  at  the  Savoy 
(September,  1907-March  14,  1908)  wrought  some- 
thing very  like  a  revolution  in  the  art  of  dramatic 
production  in  England.  The  unity  of  tone,  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  individual,  the  genuine  striving 
for  totality  of  effect,  the  constant  changes  of  bill, 
the  abolition  of  the  **Star  "  system  —  all  were  note- 
worthy features  of  these  undertakings.  There  were 
given  985  performances  of  thirty-two  plays  by 
seventeen  actors;  701  of  these  performances  were 
of  eleven  plays  by  one  author,  Mr.  Shaw.  Plays 
of  other  authors  were  produced  —  and  often  with 
striking  success ;  but  in  the  main  the  whole  undertak- 
ing may  be  regarded  as  a  Shaw  Festspiel,  prolonged 
over  three  years.  Mr.  Galsworthy,  Mr.  Hankin, 
Mr.  Masefield,  Miss  Elizabeth  Robins,  and  Mr. 
Barker  —  all  came  strongly  into  public  notice.  The 
Court  was  not  in  the  strict  sense  a  repertory  theatre ; 
rather  It  furnished  a  tentative  compromise  between 
the  theatre  a  cote  and  the  actor-managed  theatre^ 


378  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

backed  by  a  syndicate  of  capitalists.  As  Mr.  Barker 
^sald:  "The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  struggle 
against  the  long-run  system,  partly  because  we 
wanted  to  produce  a  lot  of  plays,  and  partly  be- 
cause we  disagreed  with  It.  It  is  bad  for  plays  and 
bad  for  acting."  In  March,  1909,  Mr.  Barker  pro- 
duced a  series  of  matinees  of  Mr.  Galsworthy's 
Strife  at  the  Duke  of  York's  Theatre;  and  during 
the  season  of  1909-19 10  we  find  him  actively  en- 
,  gaged  for  the  repertory  season  of  Mr.  Charles  Froh- 
'  man  at  the  same  theatre  —  producing  his  own  plays 
The  Madras  House  and  Prunella,  among  others. 
Mr.  Barker  was  offered  in  1907  the  post  of  director 
of  the  New  Theatre  in  New  York  —  a  convincing 
proof  that  he  had  made  a  great  reputation  as  a 
producer;  but  his  conception  of  the  theatre  int'tme 
as  the  Indispensable  setting  for  the  modern  drama 
precluded  his  acceptance  of  the  proffered  director- 
ship of  the  New  Theatre,  because  of  its  grandiose 
proportions.  After  his  return  from  an  Inspection 
of  the  New  Theatre,  he  freely  predicted  its  fail- 
ure. The  admirable  book  he  wrote  in  collab- 
oration with  Mr.  Archer,  Plans  and  Estimates 
for  a  National  Theatre,  points  forward  to  a  future 
National  Memorial  to  Shakspere  in  the  shape  of 
a  great  theatre,  supported  by  private  endow- 
ment, and  comprehensively  representative  in  char- 
acter. 

In  the  face  of  these  multifarious  activities,  and 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  379 

many  that  I  have  omitted  to  mention  —  as  actor, 
as  producer,  as  author,  as  builder  and  Inspirer  — 
Mr.  Barker  all  the  while  was  persisting  In  a  strenu- 
ous course  of  straightforward  drudgery  in  the  effort 
to  educate  himself  as  a  dramatist.  In  1893,  he  be- 
gan regularly  to  write  plays;  and  In  that  year  was 
produced  his  first  drama  —  a  play  in  which  Mr. 
Barker  and  some  amateur  actors  appeared  before 
a  ''  most  select  audience."  Though  the  plays  of 
this  early  period  were  amateurish  and  Inexpert,  they 
exhibited  the  instinct  of  the  born  craftsman.  They 
were,  as  Mr.  Barker  expressed  It,  "  stage-tight  " — 
much  as  one  would  describe  a  box  as  water-tight: 
they  played  themselves,  on  the  stage,  before  an 
audience.  Shortly  after  turning  dramatist,  Mr. 
Barker  began  to  write  plays  regularly  In  collabora- 
tion with  Mr.  Berte  Thomas;  and  during  the  next 
six  years  these  two  wrote.  In  conjunction,  some  five 
or  six  plays.  Only  one  of  these  plays,  The 
Weather-Hen,  actually  saw  the  light.  The  moder- 
ate success  it  enjoyed  was  well  deserved.  By  this 
time  Mr.  Barker  had  worked  free  of  derivative  In- 
fluences; and  this  play  showed  Itself  spontaneous  in 
treatment,  genuine  In  expression. 

All  these  efforts  can  only  be  called  promising 
tentatlves.  They  have  no  significance  for  the  pub- 
lic; and  are  merely  Important  as  successive  links  in 
the  evolution  of  Mr.  Barker's  genius  as  a  crafts- 
man.    In  The  Marrying  of  Ann  Leete,  produced  by 


38o         EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

the  Stage  Society  at  the  Royalty  Theatre,  January 
26,  1902,  Mr.  Barker  made  his  first  serious  bid  for 
wide  recognition.  It  registers,  on  his  part,  a  serious 
and  sincere  effort  to  *' find  himself" — to  discover 
an  inevitable  medium  In  dramatic  expression  which 

!    would  remain  permanently  associated  with  his  name. 

;    With  all  Its  peculiar  originality,  its  almost  unpre- 

j    cedented  novelty  of  technique.  It  failed  of  its  pur- 

I    pose,  not  for  lack  of  meaning,  but  for  excess  of 

^ffieanlngs. 

r  If  there  is  one  outstanding  feature  of  Mr.  Barker's 
talent,  which  grows  more  evident  with  each  new 
play,  It  is  the  scope,  the  social  perspective,  of  his 

I  anecdote.  This  play,  laid  at  the  end  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  Is  not  concerned  merely  with  the  fate 
and  destiny  of  particular  individuals :  Its  theme  is  the 
moral,  and  physical,  degeneration  of  a  family.  An 
air  of  languorous  corruption,  of  polite  blackguardism 
hangs,  like  a  miasma,  over  the  scene.  Mr.  Carnaby 
Leete,  a  brilliant,  but  utterly  unscrupulous  politician, 
dexterously  "  stacking  the  cards  ''  for  his  own  ad- 
vancement without  regard  to  party  fealty,  personal 
loyalty  or  honor.  Is  a  remarkable  figure  —  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  figures  Mr.  Barker  has  ever 
projected.  There  Is  one  other  remarkable  feature 
of  this  play  —  the  technique.  Indeed  It  may  be  re- 
garded as  an  unsuccessful  experiment  In  technique. 
The  action  —  If  the  static  picture  of  a  family  In  the 
final  stages  of  polite  corruption  can  be  called  "  ac- 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  381 

tion " —  IS  conveyed  by  a  species  of  Incoherent 
volubility,  a  sort  of  brilliant  Indirection  that  is  all 
but  illuminating.  The  disjecta  membra  of  vaguely 
significant  conversations  fall  about  us  like  hail-stones; 
we  experience  a  sense  of  suppressed  excitement  in 
tracking  down  some  elusive  secret  to  its  hidden  lair. 
But  that  is  as  far  as  Mr.  Barker  got  —  the  sugges- 
tively cryptic.  Already  we  see  him  employing 
woman  as  the  embodiment  of  an  abstract  Idea  —  the  ; 
woman  boldly  entangling  the  good-natured  but  dense 
philanderer  in  her  carefully  devised  snare.  The 
sense  of  grossness  comes  strongly  upon  one  In  the 
finale  —  this  eugenic,  but  unnatural,  solution  of  mat- 
ing the  over-civilized  and  devitalized  woman  with 
the  coarse  but  pure-blooded  man.  It  is  that  same 
oppressive  and  heavy  atmosphere  of  sex  communi- 
cated to  us  by  James  Lane  Allen's  Butterflies  —  A 
Tale  of  Nature,  And  we  realize  in  the  ending,  not 
a  natural  nor  even  a  morbid  impulse  —  but  a  strictly 
sociologic  motive  which  might  have  occurred  to 
Westermarck,  but  never  to  Ann  Leete !  "  Mr. 
Barker  can  write,"  says  Mr.  Arthur  Symons  in  a 
contemporary  account  of  the  play.  ...  "  He| 
brings  his  people  on  and  off  with  an  unconventionallty 
which  comes  of  knowing  the  resources  of  the  thea- 
tre, and  of  being  unfettered  by  the  traditions  of  its 
technique.  .  .  .  Mr.  Barker,  In  doing  the  right  or 
the  clever  thing,  does  it  just  not  quite  strongly  enough  I 
to  carry  it  against  opposition.  .  .  .     The  artist,  who 


382  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Is  yet  an  imperfect  artist,  bewilders  the  world  with 
what  Is  novel  In  his  art;  the  great  artist  convinces 
the  world.  Mr.  Barker  .  .  .  will  come  to  think 
with  more  depth  and  less  tumult;  he  will  come  to 
work  with  less  prodigality  and  more  mastery  of 
means.  But  he  has  energy  already,  and  a  sense  of 
what  is  absurd  and  honest  In  the  spectacle  of  this 
game,  in  which  the  pawns  seem  to  move  them- 
selves." 

Mr.  Barker  has  recently  said  that,  in  his  opinion, 
"  the  Theatre  —  with  music  —  Is  marked  out  as  the 
art  of  the  immediate  future,  of  the  next  hundred 
years."  The  prophecy  called  up  to  my  mind  an 
endless  series  of  plays  with  Prunella  as  forerunner. 
That  beautiful  hybrid  —  in  which  collaborated  a 
skilled  technician  and  keen  thinker,  a  poet,  and  a 
musician  —  Is  one  of  the  most  tender  and  gracefully 
conceived  plays  I  can  recall.  With  all  Its  airy  fancy, 
It  contrives  to  embody  a  wealth  of  real  meaning  that 
creeps  close  to  the  heart  of  everyone.  It  is  cut  from 
the  same  pattern,  and  was  doubtless  Influenced  by, 
Rostand's  Les  Romanesques  —  that  fanciful  Wat- 
teau  picture  of  love,  life,  disillusion  and  reconcile- 
ment, which  takes  place  "  anywhere  so  the  scenery 
is  attractive,"  In  which  the  people  dress  as  they 
please  "  provided  the  costumes  are  pretty." 
This  Pierrot,  with  his  rollicking,  rackety  band 
of  gay  mummers,  is  French  In  conception, 
but   English   In   execution  —  lacking   In   the   Gallic 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  383 

subtlety  but  instinct  with  an  insouciance,  a  playful 
naivete,  that  is  quaintly  English.  Through  the  eyes 
of  his  familiar,  Scaramel,  the  blase  and  the  unllluded 
we  see  Pierrot  as  the  world's  mad  truant  —  lyrically 
in  pursuit  of  a  bright  happiness  that  is  all  self-grati- 
fication. He  is  a  graceful  tyro  in  the  poetic  art  of 
living  —  with  no  regret  for  the  past,  no  thought  for 
the  morrow.  Into  Prunella's  garden  he  trips  with 
many  a  dextrous  and  insinuating  pose,  awakes  love 
in  her  heart,  and,  as  by  a  miracle  of  hallucination, 
transforms  her  into  —  Pierrette.  The  statue  speaks 
to  these  twain  its  oracle  of  "  Love  whose  feet  shall 
outrun  time  " —  and  the  lovers  rapturously  flee  from 
this  prim  garden  of  the  rectangular  virtues  into  a 
wide  world  of  blue  moonlight  and  many  stars.  A 
little  space  —  and  the  once  gay  Pierrot,  now  in  fu- 
nereal black,  returns  to  the  garden,  overgrown  and 
choked  with  autumn  leaves,  to  mourn  for  the  lost 
Pierrette.  Life  has  caught  him  In  Its  snare;  he  for- 
got the  little  Pierrette  when  he  was  upon  his  travels, 
and  when  he  returned  he  found  her  no  more.  In 
agonized  accents,  he  calls  despairingly  beneath  her 
window:  "Are  you  there,  little  bird,  are  you  there?  ", 
while  Scaramel  ever  stands  at  his  elbow  like  a  symbol 
of  world-weariness,  of  disillusion,  of  despair.  In  an- 
swer to  his  passionate  petition.  Love  speaks,  to  show 
him  his  folly;  and  he  drinks  the  bitter  cup.  But 
Pierrette,  In  tatters,  yet  still  tender  and  true,  has 
found  her  way,  also,  back  to  the  garden  of  true  love. 


384  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Life  takes  them  by  the  hand,  and  re-unltes  them  in 
the  new  bond  of  a  perfected  love. 

From  this  time  forward,  Mr.  Barker  begins  to 
"  take  his  stride."  The  Voysey  Inheritance  marks 
a  new  departure.  We  now  recognize  in  him  a 
"  new  "  dramatist  in  a  very  real  sense  —  a  dramatist 
with  original  and  clear-cut  ideas,  unconfined  by  the 
**  restrictions  "  of.  dramatic  art,  and  firm-poised  in 
his  conception  of  the  limitless  possibilities  of  drama. 
He  protests  creatively  against  the  professor  of 
criticism  and  the  sophisticated  playgoer,  who  are  only 
too  ready  with  the  unthinking  and  prejudiced: 
"  Oh,  yes,  clever  enough  in  its  way  —  but  not  a  play." 
He  deliberately  sets  himself  the  arduous  task  of 
creating  a  drama  of  "  normal  human  interest  " —  not 
to  capture  the  fancy  of  the  hardened  playgoer  or  to 
tickle  the  palate  of  the  professional  critic,  but  to  win 

t     the  intelligent  interest  of  the  normal  man  and  woman. 

V  "  The  English  theatre,  for  heaven  knows  how 
rnany  years,'*  he  said  in  1908,  "  has  diligently  driven 
out  everybody  over  the  age  of  twenty-five  —  I  speak, 
at  any  rate,  mentally,  for  there  are  plenty  of  people 
with  grey  hairs  who  will  never  be  more  than  twenty- 
five.  And  you  have  got  to  give  what  you  can  call,  in 
the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  an  Intelligent  and  amus- 
ing entertainment,  before  you  can  get  these  people 
back.  When  youVe  done  that  you've  done  all  that 
you  can  do  for  the  English  theatre."  The  profes- 
sional playgoer  wants  "the  same  old  game"  year 


GRANVILLE  BARKER 


38S 


after  year  —  romantic  love,  thrills,  scenes  a  faire, 
"  curtains,'*  dramatic  tangles  dextrously  unwound, 
handsome  men  and  beautiful  women,  exquisite  scen- 
ery, magnificent  costumes.  Mr.  Barker  posits  a 
drama  of  large  humane  concern,  dealing  sincerely 
and  naturally  with  normal  human  life,  which  shall 
possess  the  Indispensable  qualification  of  Interesting 
an  audience.  It  Is  this  which  he  has  given  us  In  the 
remarkable  play,  The  Voysey  Inheritance, 

Here  again,  as  in  the  case  of  The  Marrying  of 
Ann  Leete,  Mr.  Barker  reveals  a  mastery  in  scope 
and  perspective.  It  presents  analogies  to  a  novel  of 
Balzac,  rather  than  to  a  drama  of  Ibsen  —  is  rather 
more  like  a  section  of  the  Comedie  Humaine  laid  on 
English  soil,  than  like  a  representation  of  such  a 
bourgeois  family  episode  as  that  of  the  house  of 
Bernick,  or  of  Borkman.  It  goes  to  the  root  of  a 
problem  which  seems,  somehow,  peculiar  to  English 
life  —  the  utter  dependence  of  a  family  upon  a  set- 
tled source  of  income  from  cons»ervatIve  investment. 
After  the  manner  of  his  kind,  Mr.  Voysey  has  jug- 
gled with  the  funds  entrusted  to  his  care  in  the 
conduct  of  a  great  business;  has  robbed  Peter  to  pay 
Paul;  continues  to  do  It,  not  simply  to  retrieve  the 
losses,  but  latterly  almost  as  a  matter  of  course  —  his 
"  right "  as  a  shrewd  financier.  When  he  dies  sud- 
denly, his  son  Edward,  upon  whom  the  revelation  of 
his  father's  and  perhaps  grandfather's,  peccadilloes 
has  come  with  a  devastating  shock,  finds  that  he 


386  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

must  take  up  this  loathly  burden  —  the  Voysey  In- 
heritance. With  an  acute  sense  of  honor,  a  set  of  ■ 
high  (as  well  as  hard  and  fast)  principles,  he  shrinks 
back  in  horror  from  the  prospect  of  all  the  lying  and 
shuffling,  the  trickery  and  deception  that  will  be  re- 
quired of  him.  In  solemn  conclave  the  entire  fam- 
ily is  informed  of  the  situation;  and  in  one  of  the 
most  remarkably  natural  scenes  on  the  modern  stage, 
each  character  and  personality  standing  out  with 
cameo-like  distinctness,  the  sensitive  Edward  finds 
that  all,  even  Alice,  the  woman  he  loves,  are  against 
him.  Character,  individual  temperament  and  preju- 
dice speak  with  entire  clearness  in  the  decision  of 
each.  And  when  Alice,  with  well-aimed  words, 
brings  his  high-flown  principles  wounded  and  crip- 
pled to  the  ground,  Edward  begins  to  feel  at  last 
that  fate  has  marked  him  out  —  for  better  or  for 
worse,  he  must  rid  himself  of  "  morality,"  "  prin- 
ciple," and  "  duty,"  and  sacrifice  personal  niceties 
of  feeling  in  the  sincere  if  Jesuitical  effort  to  help  to 
right,  by  questionable  means,  a  great  wrong.  In 
the  event,  the  grasping  old  Booth,  a  lifelong  friend 
of  the  family,  demands  his  money  from  the  firm, 
for  re-Investment  elsewhere,  and  —  the  secret  Is  out  I 
We  are  left  in  fine  doubt  as  to  the  outcome  —  we 
only  know  that  old  Booth  has  revealed  the  secret, 
and  suspect  that  the  crash  is  Inevitable.  Edward, 
fortified  at  last  by  the  consciousness  that  he  has  done 
all  that  was  possible  to  set  matters  straight  and  to 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  387 

undo  the  things  which  his  father  did,  faces  the  future 
with  brave  heart.  The  solution  of  a  great  ethical 
problem  in  terms  that  contravene  conventional  con- 
ceptions of  morality,  and  the  support  of  Alice,  have 
made  a  man  out  of  a  coward.  If  he  must  go  to 
prison,  he  will  go  proud  and  strong  —  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  has  done  the  right,  and  that  Alice 
will  be  proud  of  him. 

.  The  Voysey  Inheritance  is  a  work  of  genius  — 
priginal,  deeply  conceived.  It  is  a  fine  type  of  the 
bourgeois  drama  —  what  George  Eliot  called  a 
scene  from  private  life  " —  which  Ibsen,  in  play 
after  play,  brought  to  such  a  high  pitch  of  technical 
perfection.  Its  most  remarkable  feature,  as  Mr. 
Desmond  MacCarthy  has  pointed  out,  "  is  the  skill 
[with  which  the  interest  in  a  single  situation  is  main- 
itained  through  four  acts;  that  this  is  a  sign  of  fer- 
tility and  not  poverty  of  imagination  all  who  have 
ever  tried  to  write  know  well.'*  With  such  a  situa- 
tion, the  successful  playwright  —  who  writes  what 
the  professional  critic  calls  "  plays  " —  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  would  have  made  an  utter  failure.  Even 
Ibsen  makes  "  heroes  "  out  of  Bernick  and  Borkman 
—  throws  about  them  a  halo  of  daring  chicanery  or 
Napoleonic  hazard.  Mr.  Barker  delineates  a  fi- 
nancier without  exaggeration  or  distortion,  without 
even  a  trace  of  histrionism;  and  resolutely  holds  his 
protagonist  down  to  the  unherolc  level  of  plain  soul- 
testing  actuality.     With  his  thesis  I  cannot  agree; 


388  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

for  his  treatment  I  have  the  sincerest  admiration. 
In  many  respects  it  is  his  most  satisfying  play  —  for 
its  dynamic  quality;  the  characters  grow,  enlarge, 
crystallize  or  develop,  narrow,  harden :  we  mark  the 
crucial  changes  wrought  by  circumstance  on  char- 
acter. It  ends,  with  artistic  finesse,  upon  an  unre- 
solved cadence  —  imparting  to  the  spectators,  in  the 
spectacle,  a  sense  of  "  the  strange  irregular  rhythm 
of  life."  It  possesses  a  rare  and  memorable  qual- 
ity: we  are  left  in  the  end  with  a  haunting  sense 
of  actuality,  the  impression  of  life  —  of  life  still 
going  on  after  the  curtain  falls. 

In  1 90 1,  Mr.  Barker  was  converted  to  Socialism. 
Socialism  proved  the  most  transforming  influence  of 
his  life.  His  whole  attitude  toward  the  theatre  un- 
derwent a  change  that  can  be  described  as  nothing 
less  than  revolutionary.  For  the  first  time  he  be- 
came profundly  imbued  with  a  sense  of  the  necessity 
of  organizing  the  theatre,  of  making  it  a  great  In- 
strumentality in  the  social  life  of  our  time.  He  came 
to  see  in  the  repertory  theatre  the  hope  of  the  con- 
temporary drama ;  and  his  notable  undertaking  at  the 
Court  Theatre,  and  afterwards  at  the  Savoy,  may  be 
regarded  as  a  direct  outcome  of  Socialist  conviction. 
The  National  Theatre,  in  the  shape  of  a  Shakspere 
Memorial,  became.  In  his  eyes,  the  Inevitable  In- 
strumentality for  the  establishment  of  the  English 
drama  upon  a  great  and  permanent  basis.  His  work 
In  collaboration  with  Mr.  William  Archer  is  the 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  389 

fruit  of  his  studies  in  that  intricate  problem.  His 
association  with  Mr.  Shaw,  Mr.  Sidney  Webb,  and 
their  confreres  upon  committees  of  the  Fabian  So- 
ciety wrought  a  tremendous  change  in  his  methods 
of  thought,  teaching  him  to  co-ordinate,  to  concen- 
trate, to  think  in  terms  of  reality  and  realizable 
fact.  In  Waste f  his  next  drama,  we  observe  the  un- 
mistakable signs  of  that  influence. 

The  banning  of  Waste  by  the  King's  Reader 
of  Plays  created  a  tremendous  sensation;  the  inci- 
dent was  a  vitally  contributory  cause  to  the  investi- 
gation of  the  censorship  by  a  joint  committee  of  the 
two  Houses  of  Parliament  in  1909.  In  many  respects 
it  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  Mr.  Barker  and  for  the 
future  of  the  English  drama.  It  focused  public  at- 
tention upon  Mr.  Barker  and  thrust  him  forward 
decisively  as  a  most  conspicuous  exemplar  of  the 
**  new  "  school  of  dramatists  In  England  —  a  posi- 
tion which  he  might  not  have  attained  solely  upon 
the  stage  success  of  Waste.  Moreover  it  tended  to 
unite  solidly  the  almost  universal  objection  to  the 
censorship  —  an  opposition  that  finally  burst  forth 
when  Shaw's  Press  Cuttings  and  The  Showing  up  of 
Blanco  Posnet  were  banned  in  close  succession. 
The  report  of  the  committee  on  the  censorship  * 
finally  brought  the  Issues  clearly  before  the  English 

1  Report  of  the  Joint  Select  Committee  of  the  House  of  Lords 
and  the  House  of  Commons  on  the  Stage  Plays  {Censorship),  etc. 
Eyre  and  Spottiswoode. 


390  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS  _ 

public  and  resulted  in  the  present  far-from-satisfac- 
tory  compromise. 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  convey  any  adequate  idea 
of  Waste  without  narrating  its  story;  and  for  that 
the  reader  is  referred  to  the  published  play.  I  have 
never  read  any  play  which  evoked  so  many  jarring 
and  contradictory  sensations.  The  theme  —  adul- 
tery, a  consequent  illegal  medical  operation,  the  death 
of  the  patient,  the  effect  of  her  death  upon  the  co- 
respondent, a  brilliant  politician,  whose  future  is 
thereby  ruined  —  is  a  theme  from  the  mere  mention 
of  which  one  instinctively  recoils.  Once  grant  that 
the  subject  is  a  legitimate  one  for  stage  treatment, 
and  the  opposition  of  the  censorship  disappears. 
The  topic  is  treated  with  earnestness  and  sincerity 
by  Mr.  Barker;  but  with  an  apparently  needless  In- 
sistence upon  a  certain  phase.  The  ultimate  mean- 
ing of  the  play  would  have  remained  unchanged 
had  Mr.  Barker  treated  this  phase  of  the  play 
with  more  delicacy  and  reserve.  The  treat- 
ment of  great  political,  social  and  religious 
questions  in  the  play  is  the  most  powerful,  most 
vitally  interesting,  and  withal  the  most  entirely  true 
to  life  that  I  have  ever  encountered  in  any  contem- 
porary drama,  with  the  single  exception  of  Joht 
BulVs  Other  Island;  of  the  two,  Mr.  Barker's  play 
is  superior  to  Shaw's  in  realistic  detail  and  fidelity  to 
actual  life.     From  his  contact  with  Mr.  Webb  and 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  391 

Mr.  Shaw,  Mr.  Barker  achieved  a  mastery  of  the 
political  issues  involved,  and  presented  them  in 
impressive  and  convincing  truthfulness.  Trebell,  the 
brilliant  politician,  is  at  once  repellent  and  abnormal 
in  temperament;  a  megalomaniac  of  the  most  virulent 
type.  In  his  nature  there  is  no  spark  of  altruism; 
he  has  unbounded  contempt  for  other  people,  sublime 
confidence  In  himself  and  his  powers.  His  temper- 
amental coldness  —  an  Inhuman  coldness  —  takes 
the  form,  sincere  though  It  be,  of  a  sort  of  sensational 
cynicism.  For  the  weak  and  vacuous  victim  of  his 
passion  he  has  not  a  spark  of  pity;  he  coldly  argues 
with  her  at  a  moment  when  she  needs  and  deserves 
sympathy  and  pity.  There  is  nothing  more  grue- 
some and  horrible  In  the  whole  play  than  the  bond  of 
union  cemented  between  the  adulterer  and  the  be- 
trayed husband  —  a  fellow-feeling  of  sympathy  in 
condemnation  of  the  luckless  woman.  Trebell  hates 
women;  he  hates  with  icy  hatred  this  wretched  vic- 
tim because  she  will  not  abide  the  consequences  — 
for  the  child's  sake.  He  has  always  felt  contempt 
for  men  and  women  because  of  his  power  over  them; 
and  he  hates  this  woman  all  the  more  because  he 
has  given  her  the  power  to  ruin  him.  The  cabinet 
will  be  formed  without  him  —  people  cannot  work, 
even  in  politics,  with  a  monster. 

Trebell  kills  himself  —  not  because  he  has  lost 
his  chance  for  a  place  in  the  cabinet,  but  because  by 


392  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

a  strange  twist  of  a  kind  of  mystic  psychology,  he 
realizes  his  spiritual  failure.  This  woman,  to  whom 
he  has  never  given  a  passing  thought,  has  shrunk 
instinctively  from  an  ordeal,  to  endure  which  woman 
needs  all  the  love  and  help  which  man  can  give.  A 
dream-child  of  his  morbid  fancy  has  been  slain  — 
this  spells  his  failure,  his  consciousness  of  his  inabil- 
ity to  cope  with  the  vast  human  issues  of  creation 
and  life. 

Mr.  Barker  has  publicly  expressed  his  gratitude 
to  Mr.  Charles  Frohman  for  proving  the  practicality 
of  modern  repertory.  He  has  brought  "  Repertory 
from  the  regions  of  talk  and  agitation  to  be  an  ac- 
complished fact."  It  was  during  the  season  of  1910 
that  Mr.  Barker's  play  The  Madras  House  was  pro- 
duced by  Mr.  Frohman  at  the  Duke  of  York's  The- 
atre. Neither  Mr.  Barker's  The  Madras  House 
nor  Mr.  Shaw's  Misalliance  with  ten  and  eleven 
performances  respectively,  proved  to  be  "  winning 
cards  " ;  the  audiences  were  small,  and  their  size  did 
not  warrant  the  continuance  of  the  performances. 
After  reading  The  Madras  House  I  was  impressed  [ 
anew  with  Mr.  Barker's  originality  as  a  technician 
and  the  scope  of  his  vision  as  an  interpreter  of  life. 
Woman  —  her  present  status,  her  relation  to  mar- 
riage, her  future  —  is  the  theme  of  the  play;  and  this 
problem  is  viewed  from  a  different  angle  in  each  suc- 
cessive act.  Various  types,  all  sharply  delineated  in 
personality,  are  brought  upon  the  stage,  not  for  their 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  393 

own  sake,  but  solely  for  the  light  they  may  throw, 
by  reason  of  their  individual  opinions  atid  prejudices, 
upon  the  question  of  sex.  In  spite  of  the  several  in- 
cidents of  the  play,  which  vitally  concern  the  char- 
acters, there  is  no  real  plot  —  the  protagonist  is 
Woman,  and  the  play  concerns  itself  with  her  destiny. 
We  have,  in  succession,  the  attitude  of  the  father  of 
six  marriageable,  but  unmarried,  daughters;  the 
oriental  view-point  of  a  man  who  has  set  up  a  harem 
in  the  East,  after  being  separated  from  his  English 
wife;  a  cheap  American  "  hustler  "  with  subtly  gross 
ideas  about  the  utility  of  sex  in  business,  a  rather 
heavy  caricature  of  the  P.  T.  Barnum  type;  a  woman 
who  has  been  "  wronged  " ;  a  woman  whose  husband 
IS  charged  with  infidelity;  the  shrill  conventionalized 
figure  of  duty;  and  so  on.  And  then  there  is  the  in- 
timate trio  —  Philip  Madras,  his  wife,  and  his 
friend  Major  Thomas,  the  "  mean,  sensual  man," 
who  is  always  obsessed  with  the  strange  idea  that 
if  a  woman  evinces  any  Interest  in  him,  she  must 
be  secretly  wanting  him  to  kiss  her  I 

As  long  as  Mr.  Barker  is  focussing  a  rapid  fire 
from  all  corners  of  the  stage  upon  the  subject  of 
woman,  he  holds  our  undivided  interest.  In  this 
play  I  observe  for  the  first  time  the  clear  Influence 
of  Mr.  Shaw.  For  this  Is  Mr.  Shaw's  method  par 
excellence  —  to  consider  some  theme  of  large  humaii 
or  social  Interest,  and  have  everybody  tell  what  they 
think  about  it.     This  is  the  technical  basis  of  Mr. 


394  EUROPEAN  DRAMATISTS 

Barker's  last  play  —  save  for  this  striking  difference. 
Shaw's  characters  talk  about  countless  things  not 
strictly  germane  to  the  theme;  Barker's  characters 
focus  on  the  theme  —  as  George  Meredith  would 
say,  they  "  ramble  concentrically.'*  The  last  act, 
though  still  concerned  with  the  theme,  is  in  the  nature 
of  anti-climax.  Woman  has  a  hard  innings;  and 
never  Is  she  thought  of  as  anything  but  a  shavian 
"  mythological  monster,"  unscrupulously  using  her 
personal  charms  for  selfish  gratification.  Philip 
Madras,  who  seems  to  direct  the  entire  play,  rather 
inconsequentially  comes  to  the  conclusion  —  a 
conclusion  inartistically  unmotlved  —  that  the  only 
career  for  a  self-respecting  man  nowadays  who 
wishes  to  help  his  fellow-men  and  fellow-women, 
is  to  join  the  County  Council  and  become  a  social 
reformer.  As  he  says,  "  That's  Public  Life. 
That's  Democracy.  That's  the  Future."  He  is  the 
self-satisfied  young  man  who  is  coolly  superior  and 
always  sure  of  himself  —  vastly  irritating  despite 
his  large  social  views. 

"  In  The  Madras  House'*  says  Mr.  Max  Beer- 
bohm,  "  there  is  only  one  character  that  does  not 
stand  forth  vital  and  salient;  and  this  is  the  char- 
acter of  Philip  Madras,  the  wise  and  gooS  young 
man  who  is  always  ia  the  right  - —  always  perspica- 
cious, unselfish  and  charitable  by  virtue  of  being 
himself  so  shadowy  and  cold.  It  is  a  note  that  per- 
vades modern  drama,  this  doctrine  that  human  be- 


4 


GRANVILLE  BARKER  395 

Ings  are  always  hopelessly  In  the  wrong,  and  that 
only  the  Inhuman  ones  can  hope  to  be  in  the  right. 
I  don't  say  it  Is  a  false  doctrine ;  but  It  certainly  Is  a 
lugubrious  one.  And  we  must  be  pardoned  for  a 
certain  measure  of  Impatience  with  Philip  Madras. 
Repressing  our  impulse  to  call  him  an  Impostor,  and 
hailing  him  reverently  as  pope,  we  can't  even  so, 
stand  him  —  whether  we  feel  we  are  In  the  right  \ 
with  him  or  In  the  wrong  with  the  others."  -- — l 

Mr.  Barker  is  a  dramatist  of  marked  power  and 
strong  originality,  a  master  of  the  tools  of  his  craft. 
He  has  freed  himself  from  the  restrictions  of  his 
art:  instead  of  obeying  its  "laws,"  he  experiments 
freely  and  successfully  with  any  materials  he  chooses. 
He  has  taken  the  bold  course  of  "  leaving  Aristotle 
out."  His  definition  of  a  play  is  a  declaration  of 
independence :  "  A  play  Is  anything  that  can  be  made 
effective  upon  the  stage  of  a  theatre  by  human 
agency."  Perhaps  his  own  words  are  prophetic  — 
for  he  has  done  great  things  and  will  surely  do 
greater:  "  We  must  go  on  breaking  new  ground,  en- 
larging the  boundaries  of  the  new  drama,  fitting  It 
for  every  sort  of  expression.  When  we  deserve  It  a 
new  dramatic  genius  will  arise.  He  will  neither 
break  laws  nor  obey  them.  He  will  make  laws  and 
there  will  happily  be  no  questioning." 


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